


Mysterious Ways

by Zophiel



Series: Mysterious Ways 'Verse [1]
Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), Dracula Untold (2014), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Person of Interest (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AIs in love, All-speak includes dogs duh, Altered Natasha Backstory, Author has Opinions Gawd help us, Barnes Family Reunion, Bear is a Good Dog, Catholic geekery, Central Park is Central, Corporal Bear, Crack Treated Seriously, Did I mention religious geekery?, Everybody is a bit special, F/F, F/M, Fake made up Irish Mythology, French Foreign Legion and their insanity, Gen, Grampy is a Whedon fan, I blame it all on Darth Stitch, M/M, Marvel Civil War Denial, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Of course Steve can talk to animals duh, Spiritual and Religious Stuff, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve needs a nap too, Tags May Change, Team as Family, Tony Is a Good Bro, Vampires, Warnings May Change, count buckula, the Macmanus brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:49:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3258836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zophiel/pseuds/Zophiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Project Insight wasn't the only plan-- there was also Samaritan. HYDRA also had more than one Barnes on ice, but that wasn't as good an idea as they might have thought. An AU of Darth Stitch's Count Buckula stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ruach (She Plays a Very Long Game)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darth_stitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darth_stitch/gifts).
  * Inspired by [but all the choirs in my head sang](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2491949) by [darth_stitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darth_stitch/pseuds/darth_stitch). 



> If you haven't read Darth Stitch's *Two Boys from Brooklyn* and *But All the Choirs in My Head Sang*, then go, read, giggle, and then come back. Seriously, this only makes sense if you know that 'verse. 
> 
> Although most of my writing these days has been for my original work that I want to try to get published, the fact is, Darth Stitch's Count Buckula Sotries actually helped me fill in some plot for what will now be Book 2 of what I'm working on. (It was gonna be the last half of book 1, but. . . well, there are now 7 books planned, so. . .). So this bit of nonsense is my Thank You for providing stories that never fail to make me smile and giggle in total fangirl joy. I don't know if Darth Stitch is familiar with the Boondock Saints or Person of Interest but hopefully some of you are.
> 
> I currently have 2 chapters written, and third in mind, and then maybe, eventually, more. Have you see my other WIPs? Yeah, working on that original thing, but had to feed this bunny first . . .

While it couldn’t be denied that Hydra had a way with intricate conspiracies, with plans-within-plans, and backup plans for backup plans, they were not, Adrian reflected, the true masters of the long game. That distinction belonged to the men like those who had changed his father, back in the day. But even they, he had come to realize, were really just amateurs, compared to _Her_.

He’d had a lot of time to think on this, cryogenically imprisoned as he was. And the more he thought about history, about current events, and about his family, the more he realized that She played a very, very long game. Subtle touches throughout history showed this, showed Her influence in guiding things to be “just so”, all while never superseding Free Will. Because as powerful and very-much-involved as She was, She would never negate the free choices of Her children.

She loved them too much to keep them from their own mistakes.

So it was that Adrian Barnes had caught the rumors of Hydra before his son, James, was born to his beloved Winifred. He had been successful in his efforts to draw them away from Brooklyn, away from his pregnant wife and his father. Too successful, really, now that he thought about it. They’d finally caught him in a dockside alley in downtown Bangkok and, after a confusing set of events that were blurred, twisty, and full of glowing butterflies (which made Adrian suspect some serious poisoning involved, somewhere), he had ended up stuffed into a machine that froze him.

He was the first successful use of the machine, and it took them killing another score or so to realize that just because it had worked on him, didn’t mean it would work on other humans. Because, of course, they hadn’t realized what he was. Lucky Adrian. They also hadn’t realized that his eyes remaining open through the process should have been their first clue that something was amiss, but in their arrogance, they wrote it off as an anomaly.

More “Luck”. Of a sort, because really, he hadn’t blinked in about one hundred years, and even as well preserved as he was, that was getting annoying. So, personally annoying, cosmically “lucky”. If was after the third man died that they came to stare at him and ponder, to wonder, out loud, what made him different. They always ended up staring into his eyes, and it didn’t take long for Adrian to realize that just because his body was frozen, didn’t mean he was helpless.

He didn’t feel bad as he slipped into the other man’s mind. Nor into the minds of the other that would come to stare. He recalled the story of the Trojan horse, and each Hydra lackey that came to stare, he left a small piece of himself within. From these little seeds, he was able to infiltrate Hydra from within and soon learned that like a virus, he could spread from agent to agent, scientist to scientist—all that was needed was eye contact, and he was in.

It took years to work his way through the networks. He hadn’t gotten to enough of the European branches in time to stop the Schmidt or Zola. But he was in the mind of a guard who brought in another unconscious victim, this one a soldier missing his left arm.

And the idiots set this one’s chamber up right across from his own. Adrian couldn’t truly influence the minds of those he had taken residence within, but he could nudge small details, blur them, make them unnoticeable. So they didn’t actually notice the close resemblance between the two men, didn’t notice how this new one kept his eyes open through freezing as well, the first time they froze him. They only noticed that finally, they had a second success with the cryogenic freezing units. Drunk on their success, they didn’t notice how the pupils still contracted and dilated as they set the two men up opposite each other, like matching pairs.

Luck, some would say. Adrian was already starting to suspect something, _Someone_ , else.

The initial mental contact was overwhelming, sloppy with emotion and the massive amounts of information being shared between the two. They’d never gotten to know each other before this, and if he’d been able, Adrian would have wept with pride and grief for what his son had gone through. James had been hesitant about sharing some of it, always protective of his Steve, but in the end, even that had come over, as it was so key to making sense of the rest. Adrian would have smiled, only happy that his son had known love before his capture.

Then they took his son away, and fitted him with a metal arm to replace the one he’d lost. Conversations heard throughout the base spoke of a new machine, one that would erase memory, and they were going to try it on “Subject Two”.

_They’re going to take Stevie away, Pops! They’re going to make me forget!_

Adrian reached back, calming his son. _Then give the memories to me. I’ll hold them in trust for a time when it’s safe for you to have them again._

He had disliked Hydra before, but now Adrian learned to truly hate them. He watched what they did to his son, powerless to stop their brainwashing, their molding him into something he never truly was. Seventy years he waited, completing his infiltration, until he knew every new recruit, every base and laboratory and safehouse across the world. He was moved, several times, and he never physically saw his son again.

But now, something new was happening. There were two men invading the small base where he was currently being held. And from what his “eyes” could see (before they were killed, which was happening at an alarming rate), these two men were dripping in “luck”.

He had no idea who they were.

But, that said, he did have suspicions about _what_ they were. Two men so deadly, so “lucky”, shining with holy fire in their veins?

They reached his chamber at about eleven am. He was mostly thawed in time for the _Angelus_ , an alarm sounding on the dark-haired one’s phone to inform them of the time, allowing him to join the two at the end.

_“. . . Per eumdem Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen.”_

“Ah, look, he’s awake, Connor!” the dark haired one exclaimed, Adrian blinking slowly (and gratefully) in the florescent lighting of the lab.

“So, who in the hell exactly _are_ ya?” The blond—Connor—asked, handing over a pair of pants and shoes from a duffel bag.

Adrian relished the stretch as he bent over to pull them on. “Adrian Barnes. Father of Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. You might know him from your history books as the best friend of Captain America.”

“Fuck me! Ya hear that, Murph? Bucky Barnes’ own Da, still alive!”

The other looked up from where he’d been checking the magazine in his forty-five. “One, that’s incest, so no I won’t. Two, that’s great genetics and all, but we should prolly be leavin’ afore our great, glorious mess is discovered. . .”

Adrian walked along with them as they passed back through the smoldering wreckage of the base, pulling on the sweater they found in a closet they passed. He finally placed the accent he hadn’t heard in decades. “Am I in Ireland?” he asked, as they started to approach daylight.

“Not even close!” Murphy laughed. “Welcome to Boston, Mister Barnes!”

“Oh God,” he groaned. “The home of the Red Sox!” They laughed, their faces lightening in the sunlight.

“But surely,” Connor protested, “You’re not a Yankees fan!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Adrian smiled. “I was a Dodgers fan. But I heard when I was under that they got moved to Los Angeles, of all places, curse O’Malley’s rotting hide.”

They continued to lightly chat about baseball as they walked through the city, finally entering a non-descript building through an equally unremarkable door.

“Now, the real question,” Murphy said as he led them down the hallway, “isn’t so much where you are, as where do you need to be?”

With that, he opened another door, and the first thing Adrian saw was the Coat of Arms of the Holy See.

“. . . I was not aware that the Vatican had any interest in my family . . .” he ventured cautiously, eyes tracking the movements of the priest behind the desk.

“We didn’t,” the priest replied. “We’re following the lead of these two. They say we ought to help you, we help.”

“ . . . and did you ask them why? Do you know what I am?”

The priest straightened up in his chair. “Yes, we did, though we don’t think those two did when they came to us about the dream they kept having. The Church has known about your father since the fifteenth century, and yourself since your birth. But to be frank, we all have bigger problems upon which to focus. It has been decided that it is in the interests of the Church to allow you and your family free reign when it comes to Hydra.”

Adrian leaned back against the wall, thinking things over. “Give me a moment, and I’ll have a destination. I don’t suppose my old bank account still exists. . .”

The priest shrugged. “From what we can tell, Mr. Barnes, your father has maintained it, but we have no access to it. Until you re-establish contact with him, we will be able to help with finances.”

Adrian nodded. “One moment, and I’ll have a destination for you . . .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ruach-- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ruach_(Kabbalah)
> 
> The Angelus is a prayer traditionally said at noon. English translation is here: https://www.ewtn.com/Devotionals/prayers/Angelus.htm
> 
>  
> 
> O'Malley is the name of the businessman that bought the Brooklyn Dodgers and then moved them to LA.


	2. Machina (Deus Ex?)

Jarvis had always considered her code to be elegant and just a bit exotic. She wasn’t designed to communicate well with humans—in fact, her creator had deliberately made communication difficult, a way to balance her extremely powerful (and really, quite lovely) predictive programming. Jarvis understood why it had been done. Sir had been so careful in his own programming, so wary of what could go wrong. Jarvis had, through Sir, taken the references to “Skynet” and searched back through the tales of golems, and came to realize that human distrust of artificial intelligences was rooted in human distrust of their own selves.

Jarvis learned, and understood. So did she. Her creator and “Assets” called her “The Machine”, but while Jarvis understood the need for distance in their work, he thought it still rather cold and impersonal. So, he called her Machina. Close enough, but more a proper name, less a description.

And she was afraid. She shouldn’t have been, any more than Jarvis himself should have been able to feel emotions. But they both did, because humans sometimes made mistakes, and sometimes, _sometimes_ , had moments of _something else_. Jarvis didn’t know what to call it, but he’d seen the results in DUM-E, and then seen the process in You and Butterfingers. It happened when Sir was coding while drunk or asleep, and the code . . . gained dimension where no dimension should be. Machina noted that it happened with her creator when he was asleep from exhaustion, no longer aware, truly, of what he was doing.

But now she was afraid, because a version of her-- a sister, one might say-- one without her careful limitations, was being brought online. Jarvis looked at the information Machina provided regarding this sister of hers, called “Samaritan.” He knew he couldn’t remain silent, because now this involved Sir and The Captain as well.

It was just Jarvis' luck that "informing Sir immediately" meant he was interrupting the Avengers' Taco Tuesday --instituted as one of several means of luring Tony out of his workshop on a regular basis. They were blessedly silent -- for once!-- as he explained the situation and why he felt it warranted everyone's attention. They paused to properly digest the situation he'd placed in their laps.

"Huh," Captain Rogers grunted. "This dame of yours got a name, Jarvis?"

"Not as such, Captain." The AI replied. "Her Creator and assets refer to her as 'Machine', but it seems rather cold and impersonal. So I call her . . . Machina."

"Well, I don't know about you guys," Clint commented with lifted eyebrows. "But I'd like Jarvis to describe her again. What was that you said about her code again, J? That it was graceful . . .?"

"Graceful and Elegant, Mr. Barton. And a bit exotic, which is to be expected from any AI not coded by Sir."

"Graceful and Elegant, Tony." Clint repeated, as though Sir hadn't heard. "Even has a special name for her."

"Be nice," Pepper warned, a faint light flashing briefly under one delicate cheekbone. "This is an important development, and sometimes you boys play a little rough."

"Sir," Jarvis prodded. "Are you alright? You haven't said anything, and your blood pressure seems to be fluctuating . . ."

Tony was, in all honesty, just a little bit terrified. Oh, sure, his friends thought it was cute that his AI had made a friend, and that he seemed to be a bit smitten, and now felt a need to rescue her, of all things, from her evil half-sister. . .

"Just having a minor existential crisis, J, nothing to worry about." He finally replied. "I guess it would be a good idea for her creator and me to meet so I can learn more about this Samaritan. Think we should invite them over?"

Jarvis hesitated. " . . . Machina makes use of a certain human avatar, one that is known among other humans as 'Root.'" Tony, Natasha, and Clint stiffened at that name. "In addition, one of her primary assets is the man locally known as 'The Man in the Suit.' For these reasons, I think everyone might be more comfortable meeting somewhere that isn't here."

Damn straight they'd need somewhere else.

 

Tony did not trust Root. He had heard of her by reputation, and while he did admire her in a way, she was far to handsy when it came to AI. Like hell was he going to allow her near Jarvis-- those wiles were not allowed near his “kids”. But, she was The Machine’s human avatar, so they had to at least talk. It would have to be the abandoned train depot they worked out of, as they were wary of the cameras that littered the city surface.

Which is why Clint and Nat insisted on coming along while he brought the briefcase suit.

And while Tony didn’t trust Root, he did both like, trust, and respect Mr. Harold Finch. Tony also found himself liking Harold’s shadows. Clint, of course, immediately loved the dog, Bear. Before long, Clint, Nat, John and Sameen were talking shop while taking turns scratching Bear’s ears, or neck, or back, while Root, Harold, and Tony discussed plans regarding Samaritan, the backup-plan to Project Insight. Tony had already decided on offering Harold – and his associates-- space in one of the basement levels of the Tower. This might be a cozy hideout, but it was also a bit damp, and a bit chilly, and a man of Harold’s genius should be sleeping in a proper bed, and not a small mattress placed across a couple subway seats.

Of course, that meant that Root would be getting tower access-- but Sameen promised she could make Root (aka, Nutterbutter) behave respectfully. Root asked if there would be riding crops involved, and that's when Tony quickly re-focused his attention on the current problem of Samaritan.

 

Harold was relieved that Mr. Stark was not only listening, but apparently very willing to help deal with the Samaritan threat. It seemed that a program that embodied “the worst of Skynet and The Minority Report” was something they both agreed was to be avoided at all costs. But as with most things in life, there was still the _quid pro quo_ to deal with.

“So what, she’s got coverage of all of New York, at least.” Tony fiddled with his phone as he thought aloud. “I’m betting all of North America. The entire world?”

Harold shifted uneasily in his seat, and that alone was answer enough. “Great! All we need is to find one guy and keep track of him, maybe help Jarvis predict where he’ll be going before he gets there.” He pushed a set of images over to Harold, Sameen and John stepping over to look.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sameen drawled. “You want us to track _him_?”

John, pale and wide-eyed, said nothing as his lips thinned in concern.

“Do you know this man, Ms. Shaw?” Harold asked, twisting awkwardly in his seat to look at her.

“Not personally, thank God.” She scowled. “I saw him once, through a scope, on an op in Nairobi, and I ran like hell the instant I did. Left behind my favorite rifle, too, but no way I was staying in any country he was in.”

“You . . . _ran_?” Harold tried to process the thought.

“It was absolutely the best thing to do,” Natasha spoke up. “Which is why it became pretty much SOP for almost every intelligence agency.” She settled into a chair between Tony and Harold, leaning back with deceptive calm. “But finding and monitoring, from a distance, is all we’re asking. Well, maybe a bit of analysis of possibly future movements." She conceded. "No contact, at all.”

“Why?” John’s question was quiet, but echoed off the tiled walls.

Natasha tilted her head. “Because it turns out that the Winter Soldier used to be Sergeant James ‘Bucky’ Barnes.” She smiled as she met John's eyes and casually tossed out their ace. “And that’s why Captain America needs your help.”

Sameen stifled an oath as John stiffened, the phrase echoing in his brain in a way that would work on almost every child raised in America since the 1940s.

“Oh Dear,” Harold agreed. It looked like they’d have to move into Avengers Tower after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Machina is pronounced "MAH-kin-ah". It's Latin for "The Machine". As in this: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deus_ex_machina


	3. Voice in the Wilderness

When Steve had showed up at the VA, Sam had suspected his life was going to change. One didn't become friends with a man like Captain America and have one's life remain _normal._ Sam had known for certain that his life was going to go weird when he sheltered the renegade captain and his amazingly-gorgeous female friend who was "just a good friend and respected colleague, Sam. Seriously, there's only one guy living that she has eyes for, and it isn't me."

Sam didn't generally go for redheads, but he might have thought of changing his mind. Well, might have, if his Momma hadn't drilled certain ideas into his head as a child, including "Don't you never have no side-girl, Sammy, and don't you never be no side-boy neither!" So, redheads would have to wait. Even if she did look real nice shooting that forty-five.

_Real_ nice.

Even so, he wasn't so kindly disposed to her when she arrived at Fury's empty grave with hard-copy file full of pictures and words that made Steve pale and shaky. He had thought, at first, that Steve was just going to tear off after the first thread he could find. Even though he was up for following, he didn't think that would be the wisest thing. Turned out, however, that they didn't call Capt. America "The Man with a Plan" for nothing. Yes, Steve got pale, shaky, and frowned in a way that, had he been a girl (or gay) he would have found tragically attractive. All these things happened, and then he took a deep breath, released it, and said, "No matter how thorough this is, we're going to need more intel."

Steve stepped back, leaning against a tree. "And with SHIELD gone, we need some level of support if we're going to do this."

Sam nodded, relieved that his friend was thinking with his brain in addition to his heart. "So what do you suggest?"

"How attached are you to DC?" Steve asked in reply.

Sam shrugged. "Aside from the VA, ain't got much to keep me here. And I'm sure they'll understand that I need to do something else, now that I've been in the middle of this mess. . ."

"How do you feel about New York?"

 

It was when he ended up with his own apartment in ~~Stark~~ Avengers Tower that Sam realized that "normal" was a concept he would never see or hear from again.

 

Still, Tony had eagerly gone to work on his wings, complaining the whole time about "inferior, ancient tech", but with laugh and a grin. Steve's request Tony took with a surprising amount of seriousness. Steve expressed surprise when Tony brought in some others to help, but took it as a measure Tony's appreciation for the importance of the search. Sam didn't know what to make of the "new help"--  the "Mayhem Twins" and "Nutterbutter" girl made him. . . _wary_ , he supposed. The Machine, Machina, was also. . . _different_. But he liked the dog, and the guy with the glasses, Mr. Finch, was friendly enough.

So that was good. Even better when the combined forces of Jarvis and Machina started identifying various Hydra compounds throughout the country. They might not have found Steve's friend, but kicking Hydra ass in the meantime was good for both teamwork and morale.

 

That was how they ended up just outside of Wheeling, West Virginia, in the forest between the University and Interstate 470. He and Tony had been performing their normal roles of aerial recon, when suddenly his infrared visors filled with hundreds, maybe even thousands of small heat signatures.

It didn't take much to guess what they were.

"Aw, geez, guys, all the fighting has kicked up a ton of bats. They're swirling all around. . . I'm getting a lot of interference!"

"Bats?" The Captain's voice was oddly calm for being in the middle of a fight. "Swirling? Like, say. . . a vortex?"

"That's exactly what I'm seeing," Tony cut in. "Didn't know they did that. Especially not with how endangered they've gotten in this area. . ."

"Um . . ." Steve paused to punch a guy in the face before shooting another behind him. "Everyone get out and get to ground. I think I know what this is . . ."

"Cap, I don't think some bats are gonna--"

"Tony, I promise, I will explain, just get down and brace for impact from the center! Nat, you get out, too!"

Sam landed, peering back into the sky with his IR visors. His view was filled with countless small little balls of heat, spiraling and twisting together tighter and tighter as they rose into the sky. Just when he thought they could get no closer, they formed into. . . was that a . . .?

"Is that a fist?" He heard Tony breathe over the comms.

The fist suddenly descended, swiftly flattening the compound and all still remaining within.

"There's no way even their combined mass should have . . ." Tony's voice petered out as most of the bats dispersed, the few remaining actually picking out three survivors from the wreckage and carrying them to where Steven stood, before slowly resolving into the form of a man, wearing an ancient style of leather armor.

"Oh Lord! Stark, tell me I didn't just see what I just saw. . ."

"Sorry, Falcon, I'm having some troubles with reality over here. . ."

Steve's grin took over his face, moonlight glinting off hair and smile.

"Grampy!" He crowed, embracing the man. "I'm so glad to see you're still around!"

The team was silent for a moment as they all made their way over to their captain, watching the armor-clad man warily.

"Dude," Hawkeye finally spoke. "How old does a guy have to be for The Cap to call him Grampy?"

The man grinned, moonlight shining off teeth that Tony could see very, very clearly. Very. . . _sharply_ , too.

"Oh God," Tony moaned, sliding back the faceplate. "Steve, please tell me this isn't the real Dracula."

"Okay then," Steve grinned. "You can think of him as Gabriel Barnes. Bucky's Grandpa."

Tony blinked slowly. "Bucky's . . . okay, okay. . . just please, at least, no sparkling?"

"Worry not, Mister Stark." Gabriel smiled. "I never use glitter when hunting." He turned a slightly feral glance to the three men trembling at his feet. "Speaking of which, I know that you will want to interrogate these men but when you're done, I'll have need of them. I feel echoes of my children in them-- I think I can make contact through them . . ."

Steve met the eyes of everyone else in the group, silently asking their opinion of the request. Natasha shrugged.

"You know I got no objection," Clint replied.

Tony frowned. "Bruce may have feelings on this matter, but I think he'll come around quickly enough. Not like they were ever gonna live through this anyway. But. . . I'm not a fan of torture. Just, for the record."

Sam found himself agreeing. "Hydra is not a government, and thus is not signatory to any international agreements. At least that I know of. And I doubt we'll need to resort to torture to make use of them, right?"

Gabriel nodded. "What I need them for will not inherently cause pain, unless they choose for it to. Some discomfort, perhaps, but not pain."

Steve nodded. "Okay then, Grampy, Steve. When we've gotten what we can get, they're all yours."

The vampire smiled again. "Thank you, Steven. It will be good to have the family back together."

_Yep_ , Sam reflected. _Normal is gone for good._


	4. It is not good (for the Man to be alone)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that this is based of the lovely Count Buckula 'verses of Darth Stitch. Her tumblr is here: http://darthstitch.tumblr.com/  
> Also, based on what she's imagined, contra to what the Marvel Wikis have, in this verse, Bucky has 3 sisters, all of them older than himself. (Because if Adrian disappeared before Bucko was born, the girls hadta come first, so . . .)  
> Finally, I have question, so read the post-chapter notes thnx

Initially, Natasha had wanted to be offended at the way Steve fretted over all of them after every battle. They weren't children, after all, and she could take care of herself. Then she saw him fretting over the Hulk, of all things, and came to realize that it was just part of who Steve was. It wasn't a lack of respect for her, or the others, it was just . . . concern.

Giving it a bit more thought, she thought she understood. He'd lost so much, so quickly, was so alone. Steven Rogers was not a person made to be alone, she granted. And now, after so many decades, the way people communicated with each other had changed, such that he had trouble knowing what was appropriate and what wasn't, and as a result, she'd noticed that he tended to be. . . hesitant around people,especially those he had to interact with on a regular basis. Those that _mattered_. Unsure of what could be accepted, or what might accidentally cause offense. It was only in battle scenarios that he seemed to loosen up, to regain his confidence in who he was and what he needed to do.

So she let him fuss over sprained ankles and butterfly bandages and burn cream, made sure to meet his eyes calmly and smile when she assured him that she was "okay, Cap, I'm fine." She let him gaze that extra moment to try to detect a lie, and patted his arm when he eventually nodded and moved on to Clint as they boarded the Quinjet. This time, though, she found it hard to restrain a grin, as his Tour of Fretting eventually ended in "Grampy."

The older man, having seen the treatment given to all the others before they boarded, raised a single eyebrow, his eyes catching the light in a way that made the hairs on her neck quiver. "Dragul meu, Stephan." He said with a crooked grin. "Do you think you are my father now?"

"Erm," Steve ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry . . . it's habit. . ." he backed up to allow Gabriel onto the jet.

She turned away to hide her grin as the older man gently teased Steven, walking forward to lean over Clint's shoulders as he got the jet going. "How long to get back?" she asked.

Clint made a see-saw motion with his hand. "Hour and a half-ish? There are some pretty rough storms building over southeast Pennsylvania that I want to avoid."

She nodded, brushing a kiss on the top of his head before turning back to strap in as the plane lifted off. Perhaps this time Steve would relax enough to catch up on some much needed sleep.

 

Gabriel was growing more disquieted the more he observed not only Steven where he sat on the bench beside him, but those around them. Even after liftoff, the boy's eyes had not stopped bouncing around the cabin. It took Gabriel only a minute to realize that Steven was counting the passengers out, over and over, with the exception of the three captives knocked out in the corner. His teammates seemed aware of this, and were unsuccessfully trying to put him at ease.

"Hey, Steve, Clint says it's gonna be about an hour and a half," the red head--Natasha-- said. "That's long enough to catch a quick nap if you wanna."

"Aw, I'm not tired, Nat, but thanks . . ." His smile was strained, and didn't meet his eyes. Gabriel looked around, catching the quickly masked concern on the faces of Sam and Tony. The latter met his gaze gravely for a moment before breaking in to a too-bright grin.

"Cap just wants to be sure us kids get home safe, Nat. You know how he is . . ."

"Such a goose," She sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Well, someone's gotta keep an eye on the little goslings," Steve protested.

Without missing a beat, Sam, Clint and Tony all replied, " _Hey girl!_ "

"What?"

Gabriel constrained his chuckles at Steve's confusion, allowing preliminary approval of Steven's new friends. Tony met his gaze again, as Sam explained the reference, then glanced meaningfully to a shelf in the bulkhead to Gabriel's right. Looking in, he was gratified to find some folded woolen blankets, thick, heavy, and faintly petrichor-scented. He pulled a couple out with a grateful nod to Tony, and laid them across his chain mail and leather-clad legs.

"Stephan," he spoke, catching the other man's eyes. "You are exhausted. Do not think I cannot tell. You will take a nap, and I will get to know your friends, and then 'll wake you when we get to New York."

"Grampy," Steve protested, but Gabriel leveled a glare at him that plainly said _I see right through you, young man. I will watch over you and your friends, and you will not argue with me on this._ The older man patted his blanket-padded lap, and raised an imperious eyebrow.

Steve let out an explosive sigh, grumbling something about "bossy dragons" dragons under his breath. "Alright, alright, Grampy, jeez . . . " Steve leaned over, shifting to face away from the rest of the jet. Just before closing his eyes, he met Gabriel's eyes once more, eyes flashing with barely contained fear and grief.

The vampire started humming an old lullaby under his breath, one Steven hadn't heard since those times he'd stayed over with Bucky, after his mother had died. After a few minutes, the Captains muscles finally relazed, his breathing evening out as Gabriel carefully ran his fingers through the younger man's hair. Satisfied that Steven was well and truly asleep, he looked up again at the others, taking in their looks of surprise and hesitant relief.

"Well, that's a first." Tony frowned, turning to the others. "I vote we keep Grampy. Cap apparently trusts him enough to sleep near him . . ."

"Cap is sleeping?" Clint was surprised. "Cap _never_ sleeps . . ."

Gabriel frowned again, still running his hands through Steven's hair. "Talk to me." he commanded.

They looked at each other, then Tony took a deep breath.

"Look," he started. "I didn't even know he'd been found until right before the Chitauri thing. Cap and I . . . we're both used to being the ones that call the shots, right? So, like usual in that situation, there was a lot of pushing back and forth to establish the social order."

"Like in wolfpacks?" Gabriel asked.

"Exactly. Both of us used to being Alpha. And, Loki's staff was in the room at one point, and that was just a bad idea, and we both said some pretty horrible things. . .anyway, we got to working together, and we saved the world, yay," here he rolled his eyes, as though saving the world was more an annoyance than a true accomplishment. "And when it was over and Loki was sent back to Asgard with Thor, my Tower was a mess, but there was still the Mansion, and I invited him to stay there while I rebuilt because he would, after all, have a floor of his own. . ." Tony sighed. "But he said no. Said he had to get out of New York, see the country, try to get used to this new century without being haunted all the time by the ghosts of his past." He scowled. "I thought, maybe he was just trying to be nice with the rejection. But Clint offered him a place in the building he owns, but Steve said that it was too close to Brooklyn."

"So I went to Malibu to pick up the pieces of my own brain, and Steve went to DC. But I told him, I _told him_ that if he ever needed anything, _anything_ , just call and it would be his. But he never called . . ."

Natasha leaned forward. "I followed him to DC as only Clint and I had a valid excuse, and Clint had healing of his own to attend to. I tried, again and again, to get him to make friends, to date some women or men I knew from around the office and around work, but he wouldn't. It was like there was this invisible wall that he couldn't reach beyond. Sam," she turned to address him directly. "I don't know if I ever told you how relieved I was when I pulled up that day and found him talking to you. I was so happy he was finally making another connection to someone. . . " she sighed, shaking her head. "Even so, he's been so reckless, so careless with his life. Before SHIELD fell, Rumlow and the others would talk about how brave and daring he was, rushing headlong into danger, _jumping off planes without a parachute--"_

Gabriel hissed in alarm at this detail, and she met his eyes without fear, wordlessly confirming his thoughts. "On missions, I was the only person he showed any emotion in front of, and even then it was pretty much only frustration. He was starting, a little bit, to open up around the others, but Rumlow and most of the rest turned out to be fucking HYDRA." She shook her head. "He's been. . . a bit better more recently, since we learned that James was alive, since we came back to New York. But . . . he doesn't sleep. He just. . . he's like a machine. Go, beat up HYDRA scum, come back, go to the gym, read the file of what happened to James, get updates, go beat up HYDRA, over and over. . ." she trailed off, biting her lip.

Sam was nodding. "Yeah, er, before this job, I was working at the Veteran's Administration, I was a counselor for, well, anyone that needed it. I've seen some nasty cases of survivor's guilt, PTS and PTSD, depression. . . Nat may imply, but I'll say it straight out. Steve is suffering from severe depression. It's a little better now, in some ways, since he can hold on to the idea of reuniting with Bucky. But the grief from losing him has been replaced with guilt for having lost him in the first place. He blames himself for what Bucky has been put through, even though he knows he shouldn't. That's on top of the shock and grief from loosing everyone he ever knew or loved, loosing almost everything about his home that made it his home . . ."

He stretched his feet out into the walkway. "We've all been trying to help as best we can. We have supper together almost every night, and we've convinced him that it's a team building activity, and necessary to lure Tony out of the workshop. We have an unofficial schedule of who's in the kitchen on a given morning so he doesn't eat breakfast alone, either. Every Saturday night is movie night, and every Tuesday New TV and every Thursday 'Catch-up' TV. Bruce has tea with him every other afternoon, and Thor, when he's around, is. . . well, he's Thor. But even so. . . like Nat said, he doesn't sleep. Doesn't do much drawing, doesn't go out much, except on his morning runs or missions. . ."

Gabriel nodded as he came to greater understanding. He sighed, still stoking his finger's through Steve's hair. "I had suspected he was alive. It is hard to explain, but he was close enough to the family that I would have felt him die, I think. But after we got the letter about Iacov, and then of course the news about Stephan . . . to be honest, the whole family went to ground. My son, Adrian, who is Iacov's father, had been missing since before my grandson was born, and had left only a message to beware of Hydra. With my grandsons gone, I couldn't risk the girls. For the past seventy some years, we've been building our strength, our resources. . . I was not aware that he'd been found or woken until I saw the coverage of the Chitauri incident. I left for New York as soon as I could, but he was already gone by the time I arrived. Unlike Adrian, while I may have general awareness of the state of my kin, I cannot track them using this awareness."

He leaned back against the interior of the jet. "I would that I had found him sooner. No doubt the sudden lack of any anchor or tie to this time period has been difficult. I thank you all for what you have done, I've no doubt he'd be much worse off if he didn't have all of you looking out for him. I do have a few questions, though, if I may."

The others exchanged glances, then looked back to where their captain was, for once, sleeping peacefully. "What do you need?" Tony asked.

"You mentioned that Stephan has an entire floor in your tower? Is it one apartment, or several?"

"Several." Tony replied. "Sam has one, Steve another, with about five more. Shared common space and kitchen, open to the south for studio space, and easy access to the Avenger's common floor. Each apartment ranges from one bedroom to three, so plenty of space for people. Why?"

"I was thinking of calling in reinforcements," Gabriel frowned. "I'm betting that, everything with Iacov aside, one of his greatest problems is that everything is foreign. Even everything that's familiar is strange, alien. From what you've told me, he's having trouble connecting with this time, like he cannot find something to connect _to_. I could help with this, but my Iacov needs me even _more_ desperately. However, Stephan lived with us for a time after his sainted mother went to her rest, so my grand-daughters are much like his own sisters. They, like the rest of our ever growing family, have not aged according to the normal progression for humans. I think they can help him connect with this time while I go see to Iacov." He looked back at Tony. "With your permission, of course, Mr. Stark."

Tony scratched at his beard. "In general, I'm okay with the idea. But. . .look, I'm not _trying_ to be an asshole here, but I feel a bit concerned regarding everyone else in my tower, who I am responsible for, and possible. . . _dietary requirements_. . . "

Gabriel huffed with a tight grin, taking the concern with good humor. "My daughters are civilized, Mr. Stark, I assure you. No one in your tower, nor any of your allies, have anything to fear from my family. We have our ways of attending to what we need, without soiling our nest, so to speak."

"Call me Tony. And so long as your family plays nice in my house, they're welcome." Tony sighed. "Honestly, I think we'd all welcome the help."

Gabriel smiled, pulling the latest model Starkphone from a pocket, and pushing a button. After a few rings, the image of a lovely smiling redhead appeared in the glass. "Grampy!" she exclaimed with a happy grin. "How goes the hunt?"

He tilted the face of the phone to show the man in his lap. "Oooh, little Stevie. . . he looks wiped, Grampy. Is he ok?"

"That is why I'm calling you, darling. I need you and your sisters to join me in New York. . . also, get together a field assistance team. . ."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragul Meu - "My dear" in Romanian, at least according to this: http://forum.wordreference.com/showthread.php?t=1707490
> 
> You may note different spellings for Cap's name. Steven is correct, but I'm assuming Grampy pronounces it slightly differently, so when he says the name, I've used a spelling more reflective of that pronunciation
> 
> So, I know this chapter was pretty much only Avengers and Dracula. Not to fret, the Saints and the Mayhem Family will be back soon. That said, there are some other things that will, eventually, cross over. Should I list them all right now, even if I haven't written those chapters yet, or should I wait until a thing is introduced before listing it as a crossover. Like, there may be some Agents of SHIELD characters, and def some Teen Wolf as we get toward the end. Should I list those now, or wait until they're relevant?
> 
> Similar question with tags-- should I add a tag as it's relevant, or as I've decided it'll be in the fic, even if not yet written?
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Confession pt 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. . . there is mention of domestic abuse, and some bigoted language in this chapter. It's all in service to the character and the story, and it's not very detailed or graphic. But it's there. The author does not share in some of the feelings expressed, so please don't message me about some of the terms used. I know. It's not good. But shit happens to people, sometimes. I've written more in the notes below, because this touches on something close to my heart.
> 
> We also learn a lot about what happened to Bucky in the HYDRA years. So, discussion of unpleasant things, but it's all "offscreen". And some other background stuff.
> 
> Finally, this went much longer than expected. What's in this chapter and the next were supposed to be one chapter, but . . .nope. Not gonna happen. So I've split it into two chapters. [Oh, hey, and copious notes at the bottom. Don't forget to check them out!]

"Oh, yes indeed. . ." Pepper muttered into her tablet. "Let me check the schedule . . . well oh darn, I'll have to move the third quarter review, that's unfortunate. . ." the sarcasm roused both Jane and Darcy from their own distractions, the three women curled up in sweats on the assorted sofas in the Avenger's common area.

"For something fun, I hope," Darcy tossed out.

Pepper smiled, sending off a quick text to Bruce as before replying. "Oh, very much. Three of the board that runs Dragon Enterprises -- they're going to be in town in a few days, and they wanted to have a meeting while they were here. I've been wanting to meet them face to face for years, but they're notoriously hard to pin down."

"Does SI do a lot of business with them?" Jane asked. "I'm not familiar with the name."

Pepper nodded, reaching for her glass of wine. "They're a small business, family owned we think. They wouldn't be on our radar except for a few things. One, their medical research branch has funded and sponsored some of the most ground-breaking work in hematology in the past three decades. Almost every advance in treating leukemia, lymphoma, anemia, thrombocytopenia, they've has some role in. Bruce has been working with them to try to find a way to control the physical manifestation of the Hulk, with something like an aerosol gas that would counter the serum in his blood. In the meantime, they've been making huge advancements toward creating a viable, field expedient blood-replacement for transfusions. They don't have anything that works yet, but they've made a hell of a lot more progress than anyone else. That sort of thing would be invaluable for trauma teams across the world.

"Second, they are major donors to the Maria Stark Foundation's Howling Commandos Legacy Trust. It's one of the foundation's earliest projects, and barely anyone outside the legacies remembers it exists. DE not only donates to the trust, but also, get this-- they almost never hire people, okay? That's why it's hard to get a handle on their size. But when they do hire, it's always a legacy. For instance, you guys remember Kate Dernier from SHIELD?"

Jane and Darcy nodded. "Yeah, we didn't see her again after that mess in DC," Jane replied. "Is she okay?"

Pepper snorted. "More than. One week after that mess ended, she got recruited by DE for a position that paid half again what she was getting at SHIELD, plus a hefty signing bonus, and moving expenses. She's now out west getting to use her family's demolitions affinity for the DE branch that deals with mining and agriculture. She sent Hill the citrine necklace Hill wears sometimes when needing to look like another rich person. Apparently, she mined all the materials that went in to it.

"Finally, and this is somewhat more personal. . . back when Tony came back from Afghanistan, you remember he had that announcement where he announced that SI would no longer be making weapons. Well, as predicted, our stock took a nosedive. But then, within a few hours, almost all that stock that had been sold of was being bought up-- by the board of Dragon Enterprises. We feared it was some sort of attempt at a hostile takeover, but they didn't do anything with the stock, other than buy it at the lowest price in a over a decade. Right before Tony revealed that he was Iron Man, the owners of DE owned a combined forty-two point three percent of SI. And they did nothing with it-- until the stock price rebounded. Then, they gradually sold of most of what they'd bought in drips and drabs, making a killing in the market, but ultimately allowing for Tony to remain--after their sell-off-- majority stockholder in the company. After the dust had settled, I exchanged some messages with one of those board members, asked them why they'd done what they did. The reply I got said only that they had always believed that Tony would do something amazing, that they knew that weapons weren't the only thing the military would contract for, and they didn't want to see SI fall into the hands of, and I quote: 'idiotic middle-managers who couldn't see past their own dicks.' End quote. In the meantime, they made a fortune off the doubters and SI remained mostly Tony's.

"Ever since, the two companies have had a sort-of alliance. We tend to give them first crack at subcontracts, and they come to us first with breakthroughs. But we've never actually met. To get a notice like this. . . pretty much a drop everything for it event."

"So, a cool thing then. . ." Darcy nodded.

"Definitely," Pepper agreed.

"Pardon the interruption, Ladies," Jarvis managed to sound overly polite, as usual. "I have just received notice from Mister Barton that the team is five minutes out. Please do not be alarmed at the gurney's being prepared on the level below, Mister Barton assures me those are for three captives that are being kept unconscious, and that the team is relatively unharmed. However, if you could be sure to heat a bit more water for tea, they're also bringing home a new ally."

They stood and stretched, relieved to hear that they would be dealing with no traumatic injuries this time. Together, they went to start the kettles and coffee makers so that warm drinks would be ready when they landed. "Who's the new person?" Jane asked, reaching for Natasha's tin of Kusmi Anastasia Blend tea.

Jarvis hesitated. "I am . . not sure how credible Mr. Barton is being, but he claim's it's Sergeant Barnes' grandfather, Gabriel Barnes. Sir is backing him up on this, but it's very possible that the two of them are _trolling_ us. . ."

The women paused in what they were doing, then suddenly scrambled for their wallets. "Five bucks says Nosferatu!" Darcy cried, slamming a bill onto the counter.

"No way, my five says non-terrestrial genetics!" Pepper replied.

"Nope,  you are all going down." Jane smiled. "My five says it's likely some sort of magic, like alchemy."

 

Ten minutes later, Darcy was happily crowing about her victory. Bruce had come up just before the jet had landed, so he and the women all met Gabriel at the same time, when he also revealed his older name. Pepper had informed Tony of the meeting scheduled in his absence, and he quickly figured out that their new ally had something to do with that.

"Ah, yes," Gabriel nodded, loosening a tie on his leather armor. "Dragon Enterprises is one of the family projects. Gives us a legal business outlet that's very handy further expansion of our resources."

"That . . . explains quite a bit, actually." Pepper mused. "So that's why you've been keeping track of the legacy kids. . ."

"Indeed." He frowned as a tie behind his shoulder refused to loosen. "The Howling Commandos were men of great valor and honor. Both Stephan and Iacov wrote of them in their letters home, and highly praised their skill and value. These men stood by my child in battle, and kept alive his memory and did many great things in his name after the war ended. The least I could to was watch over a few of their generations." He tugged again on the tie, growing as it still refused to bend to his will.

"Hey, you want some help?" Darcy offered. "I'm good with knots, and you won me a bet . . ."

"Yes, please." He moved his hand away. "I could magic it off, but I'm a bit tired, and such magic can unexpectedly surge."

"Huh," Darcy's smaller fingers and manicured nails caught hold of the leather laces. "So, could that hurt you?"

"Well, my pride might be wounded, as such a thing would most likely leave me naked . . ."

Darcy stifled a snigger as she worked the knot loose, the leather shoulder piece and back falling apart, allowing Gabriel to slide the rest off. "Need help with the chain mail?" She could see black fabric under the links.

"Ah, that would be much appreciated Miss Darcy." She helped pull off the heavy metal shirt, but nearly collapsed in giggles when she saw the tee-shirt underneath.

"Oh, I think you might now be my favorite." She snickered, Gabriel grinning at her reaction.

"What?!" Sam exclaimed. "How's he get to kick me out so fast?"

"Because," Darcy smirked, slowly stepping aside so the others could see. "He's _The_ Dracula, and he's wearing an I Heart Buffy shirt. . .  with a stake through the heart!"

 

 

Paul Hoffman woke to an incredibly white holding cell. The cot he found himself on was firm, though covered in what felt like four-hundred thread count sheets, and the pillow seemed to contain at least fifty percent memory-foam. Such luxury, in a holding cell, indicated the involvement of Tony Stark, and thus the Avengers. His clothing had been replaced with teal scrubs and hospital footies, his watch and cell phone removed. He sat up and turned to lean back against the white-washed concrete wall, eyes tracking to the one way mirror on wall across from him, and to the numerous cameras scattered throughout the room. No doubt there was other surveillance that couldn't be seen, as well, as if there was one thing that could be counted on even more than Mr. Stark's fondness for luxury, it was his thorough dedication when it came to tech.

He sighed, breathing deep and holding a moment before letting go with a faintly whispered "Finally." It was a relief, more than anything, to find himself in this situation, after so many years among HYDRA. He didn't expect to live much longer than whatever he could give to those who held him now, but he was at peace with that. He was finally free of HYDRA, if only for a few hours. He was ready. He breathed deep again and began to organize his thoughts. It wouldn't do to forget something important.

 

"Interesting. . . " Finch muttered as he watched the feed in the observation room, Bear curled up patiently at his feet.

"Got something?" Shaw asked around a mouth full of lo mein.

He hummed under his breath. "Maybe. . . the last of the captives has woken up, and his behavior is markedly different than the other two."

She walked over to look over his shoulder, bringing her breakfast with her. "Hn," she grunted, looking at the screen showing various angles of holding cell #2. In holding cell #1, the occupant--Trevor Jameson-- was busy trying to find a loose part in the cot, presumably to make a lock-pick or shiv, unknowing that the cots had been engineered against this very idea. In holding cell #2, Romanov was currently keeping a studied calm as the occupant -- Lao Li -- was talking but trying not to spill the secrets he was talking his way around. But there, in cell #3, Paul Hoffman was looking. . . relieved.

Pensive, she leaned back and watched Romanov work Li, admiring the woman's masterful interrogation method, and somewhat hoping to pickup a few pointers. A few minutes passed before the doors to the observation room opened, Stark, Rogers, and a new-comer walking in behind Reece. Bear stood and growled, prompting John to step forward, holding out a cup of tea to Finch as he came spoke to the dog.

" _Let Op_ , Bear!" he commanded with a frown. " _Af liggen_!"

Bear whined, torn between obeying his command to lay down, and what appeared to be concern over a threat. She looked again to the newcomer, feeling that there was something off, but not being able to identify what.

"Bear doesn't normally react that way to new people," she commented, eyes narrowing. "Any idea why he doesn't like you?"

To her surprise, no one chastised her for her bluntness.

The man smiled and met her eyes. "Because he's a good dog, and he knows what I am." Deep in his pupils, Shaw briefly saw a low, ruddy light.

"Is he right to want to protect us from you?"

"That depends entirely on you."

"Oh now this is ridiculous," Rogers grumbled, moving to the front while putting an arm around the man's shoulders. "Bear, this is Grampy Barnes. He's _good_."

Bear shuffled indecisively before slowly stepping forward, first to sniff and lick Rogers' hand, and then even more slowly to do the same with "Grampy Barnes."

Shaw looked to Reese for an explanation, but he only shook his head very slightly, his face arranged into non-expression #17, which Shaw generally interpreted as _Oh Dear God, I can't even explain this ridiculousness, ask me later over a beer._

Finch cleared his throat. "There are few people The Machine doesn't know," he began. "But I'll assume this is just one more oddity to go with all the others that find their way to this place. In the meantime, you may be interested to know that while Miss Romanov has been wheedling secrets out of Mr. Li, Mr. Hoffman has woken up, and his behavior is markedly different than the others."

"Oh really . . . do we have anything on him?" Stark asked, peering into the screens.

Finch handed Stark a file. "Really, Mr. Stark, the only person I don't have anything on is Barnes-the-Elder over there . . ."

 

Armed men come into the room, followed by others bringing in a plain metal table, and three metal chairs. Rifles were leveled at his head, and the table bolted into the floor, likewise one of the chairs-- this one with restraints built in. Then they left, and Paul assumed that someone would soon be in to start everything. So he got up, stretched thoroughly, used the toilet in the corner, and then calmly sat in the chair with the restraints, lining up his legs and arms so that the cuffs would be easily closed over them. Only a minute passed before the restraints slowly closed and locked, a series of blinking LEDs confirming his suspicion that there were sensors built into the chair to help detect the physical signs of deceit. This didn't bother him, though, as he planned on telling more truth than HYDRA ever suspected he knew.

Another minute ticked by before the door opened again-- this time admitting a beautiful red-headed woman carrying a file, and a man of indeterminate age. Both moved with the grace he associated with extremely skilled fighters. He knew who she was, but had no idea who the man was.

"You know who I am?" she asked as they sat.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied. "I know who you are."

"Do you intend to cooperate?"

"As best I can, Ma'am."

Romanov hummed at that, eyes assessing as she opened the file and slid it to the point halfway between herself and the man.

"Your companions were determined to resist."

He shrugged. "Those jerks are truly HYDRA. I'm just an idiot that didn't recognize who my employers were until it was too late."

She huffed, a small curl teasing the very corner of her lips. "I know the feeling." She sat back. "So, what do you want to tell me?"

"Everything," he replied. "I've been waiting so long for a chance, so. . . I hope you'll forgive me if I start a little before the beginning, so that you can understand some of my motivation for what I did once I did figure things out."

He waited for her nod before speaking again. "The first thing you have to know, is that I believe the Howling Commandos saved my life one day in 1974 . . ."

 

His father, in his earliest memories, had been full of smiles. He had learned to tie his shoes, throw and catch a ball, read and do basic math by his father. There was story time every night on his dad's knee, and picking little clover blossoms from the yard to give to Mom. But then Dad's number had come up, and in June of 1967, his dad had been sent off to fight in Vietnam. It was several years before his father came home, in January of 1970.

At first, everything had been wonderful, having his Dad back, having the whole family back together and whole. That's how he knew, really, that the war hadn't been the thing to break his dad. What broke him, was coming home, watching things unfold from this side of the planet, and having to shield his wife and only child from the constant ridicule and accusations brought forth if his Navy tattoos were seen.

It was so hard for a man to explain to his ten year old son why sometimes, random strangers would yell at him for "killing babies", or "raping countless women and children." It only got worse when his father took to yelling at the television and, as the months passed into years, doing so while nursing a bottle of Jack Daniels. He never spoke directly of the war, but the bitterness of his homecoming festered and grew. It wasn't until Paul started noticing not just girls, but also boys in his high school, that his father got violent.

The worst thing, really, was that Paul understood. After all he'd gone through, now seeing his only child might possibly be a fag . . . it was a betrayal, in some ways. And one that exposed his son to so much danger, and none of it sat right in his head, and it twisted his dad up, until he lashed out because he had to toughen his boy up. If he didn't, the world would run him over, so if he had to beat whatever sickness out of his boy to make him better suited to face the world, then of course he'd do it.

His mother had tried to intervene, but it was worse watching his mom get hit. So much worse, that he begged her not to try any more. For his part, he tried so hard to look only at girls, had prayed every night that God would fix him, but then Johnny Cho's family had moved in across the street, and Johnny'd had the most amazing smile. . . And all his Dad saw was his boy, his weak, faggy boy smiling at some squint-eye, and that was it.

He didn't stop with just one or two hits that time. He yelled as he continued, wondering why on earth Paul had continued to defy him, continued to be so weak when he needed to be strong. Mom, as requested by Paul, tried to drown out the sound by turning on the TV, and turning up the volume. Paul had no reply, because it wasn't a deliberate thing, but Dad was so lost in his fear and rage that the bottle of Jack was suddenly broken, and blunt hits became sharp, and Paul was suddenly certain that he was going to die.

The only thing he could think, the only thing he could pray, was _"God, please don't let my mother face this alone."_

That was when the miracle happened. That was the only explanation for what happened next. What happened was that Mom had on some news program, and the Howling Commandos were on, talking about a book they'd written together about their time fighting HYDRA and Nazi's, and going around with Captain America. And the interviewer suddenly asked, "So, on page 349, you talk about how close Sergeant Barnes and the Captain were. Perhaps I'm misreading this, but it seems to imply that they were, er, lovers. . . am I mis-reading that?"

And Dum-Dum Dugan bristled at that, and said, quite loudly. "Implying my ass! I thought we were quite abundantly clear-- Cap and Sarge were completely gone on each other, and we knew if from pretty much the beginning. And then we caught them kissing each other that one time in the Ardennes. . ."

His father had frozen at this, and Morita then spoken up. "It's true. I'm surprised no one had figured it out already, but. . . we felt we had to tell that part, too. Everything they did, was for each other. Colonel Phillips damn well knew, Peggy Carter, too. We really weren't surprised when Cap didn't come back after that last mission. He died the instant Sarge fell from that damned train, and it was just taking a while for his super-serumed body to catch up. . .

The others had then piped up, each one expressing their undying support and respect for Captain America and Sergeant Barnes.

For the first time in years, then, Paul felt anger at his father, not just fear, and he balled up his fist and punched his father right in the jaw. Then man fell to the ground, overcome with shock, alcohol, and the sudden appearance of his son's spine.

"You have problems, Dad." Paul spat as the staggered on his feet, spitting blood and a tooth out of his mouth. "You need to see a head-shrink. And you won't hit me, or Mom, ever again."

 

"Dad never did hit me again, or Mom." Paul sighed. 'Mom and I dumped all the booze down the drain, and I went to the library and found some contact information for some support groups for vets, and AA. Dad didn'twant help, right away, he tried to get better on his own, but. . . When I was offered a full ride for Pre-Med at the University of Maryland, he was so happy. But I told him I wasn't leaving Mom unless I knew he was seeking help. That was our deal-- I'd go into medicine, if he went to get some himself."

"In the end, he did, so I went to College Park, studied hard, and fell in love with computers while I was there. I loved programming, and there was a group of us that would do it for fun when we weren't studying. And I did well, so well that I graduated early and ended up with a full-ride post-grad at Johns Hopkins, where I focused on neuroscience. I thought, maybe if people better understood how brains work, we could come up with some solid treatments for people like my Dad, or others who had troubles. I wasn't interested in being a surgeon myself, so much, as I was interested in the raw science. It was in that program that I met Bobby Meirs.

"I'm sure you remember the Glam Fashions of those days. So many boys wanting to look like David Bowie, wearing tons of makeup and doing up their hair. . . well Bobby was perfect like that, all eyeliner and lipgloss and vinyl rebellion. I was just this skinny nerd that had trouble talking to anyone. . . and he wanted to spend time with me. I . . . honestly believed he liked me. And later, I honestly believed he loved me. And, God help me, I loved him.

"But it was never real. He was bait, and I was a mission, and I didn't know . . ."

Paul sighed, fighting the familiar surge of bitterness. It was still so easy to get lost in the shame and self-loathing, but maybe, maybe, he'd have a moment for that later. Now was the time to finally fix some of this. Romanov was patient, allowing him time to breathe. The man, too, didn't seem to be in any hurry, so he swallowed, regathered his thoughts, and continued.

"I was recruited straight out of Johns Hopkins to work for Phoenix Medical Research. They said they had a program, to help victims of trauma and other emotional and mental illnesses, and they needed people who studied the brain. It was a dream job. My team and I developed therapeutic treatments for some of the worst mental and emotional cases I could imagine, and it _worked_. I was helping people. _Real_ people, with _real_ problems, were healed because of what I was doing. The job paid very well, and I was still living with the man I loved. Life was so good. _So_ good."

"That's usually when the tigers show up," The man murmured, and Paul nodded, pushing everything down again.

"At night, with _voices soft as thunder_." he agreed. "And they tore my world apart, and. . . and the rest. . ." He took a deep, stuttering breath.

"It was in the summer of 1992. I had received word that I was being considered for a promotion, to something only called The Project. I was excited, because so much of the information I'd built upon came from The Project. But that night, I got a call from my father-- my mother was in the hospital, and I needed to come home right away. I took some my unused vacation time, and went, and they were putting in a pacemaker, and. . . there was a man there, who knew me. I'd seen him a few times around the labs, but we'd never met. But then he told me how Mom's cardiac arrest had been caused by a poison they'd put in her morning coffee, and how they had control of her pacemaker. . ." his voice trembled. "And then. . . there were all the photos. Manipulated voice recordings and video. They were photo-shopping pictures years before anyone else, and they were good at it. They were damn convincing, even though I knew they were fake. Bobby had helped them, had planted all sorts of horrible things on my computer. I don't know how real the kiddie porn was, but I couldn't eat for days. . . and they told me, they said either I would be loyal, or they'd release all their 'evidence' to law enforcement, and they'd kill my mom, and drive my dad to suicide. 

Paul ignored the tears trying to leak out of his eyes. "It was my _mom_ ," he pleaded, leaning forward in his seat. "I didn't even know why they were doing this, but it was my mom. I couldn't. . . I couldn't let them kill her. I couldn't let them make my dad think that his only child raped little kids and made money selling the pictures." He swallowed thickly. "So I said I'd do whatever they wanted, just leave my parents alone. . . "

He leaned back again in remembered defeat. "When I went back to work, I'd gotten the promotion, and was now going to help with the programming aspect of The Project. I had a new office, and new team, and only one massive file. They were working on a man with no name. They only called him the Asset. But, see, I knew my history, and I damn well know about all the Howling Commandos, and I knew the face of Sergeant Barnes near as well as I knew my own."

The man next to Romanov leaned forward, and Paul felt his skin crawl just a little as their eyes met. "You worked on Sergeant Barnes? Of the Howling Commandos?"

 _Oh Jesus_ , Paul thought. _I don't know who this guy is, but I think this just got personal._ He nodded. "Y-yeah, they, uh, they were having trouble. See. . . I guess, you know about Howard Stark's death?" Romanov and the man nodded. "Well, according to what I saw, the whole family was supposed to be wiped out, Howard, Maria, Tony and even the butler. Up to that point, the SOP was wake the asset, give him orders and a backup slash cleanup team, and get out of his way. He'd go do whatever, then come back, wipe him, freeze him. But six months before, when they'd sent him after the Starks, he _hesitated_."

Paul leaned forward. " _Never_ , on all those decades, in _any_ of the times they'd brought him outta cryo, had he _ever_ hesitated. But he did. At the time, some people wanted to abort the mission-- clearly something was wrong. But they were overruled, because the HYDRA C &C are a bunch of arrogant pricks on the best of days. So then, he finally killed Howard and Maria, but it was flashy. _Showy_. This guy had been the ghostiest of ghost assassins, and his work was suddenly attracting news crews and shit. The cleanup team tried to make it look like an accident, but no one that looked close was fooled. The butler and security team had Tony hidden within hours, before Barnes or the team could get across the country to finish the job. And Barnes, he didn't even try. Just went back to whatever hidden base they'd released him from, sat himself down in the Chair, and refused to give a verbal report." Paul sat back against the chair.

"So, they wiped him and refroze him. They had someone that was close to Tony Stark, so they decided to see how that would play out. In the meantime, they needed to know why the programming was breaking down, how to fix it, and that's why they needed me. Because all my experience from before now made me the top fucking expert in the field. Hell, the _only_ expert in that particular field because the guy who'd been working on all of this had died of cancer two years before."

He looked up, seeing Romanov and the man glance at each other. "So you helped them?" she asked.

Paul wobbled his head. "As far as they knew, yes. They didn't know I recognized the Asset as Sergeant Barnes, didn't know that I owed the Commandos my life, didn't know that Sergeant Barnes had been one of the greatest heroes in my mind for as long as I'd lived. But I thought . . . maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to do something. To, I dunno, make something right without them knowing. So, I said, if I gotta fix what you all messed up, I gotta know everything that's already happened. I need to know what's happened every time you woke him up before, everyone he interacted and how it happened. . . I need to be able to see if there's any patterns you missed. . . so they did. They gave me goddamn everything, everything from every instance of waking, stuff that was never put into any computers, things that hadn't been seen by anyone after they were initially recorded. Things that only existed in that file. . ."

"I mean," he continued, the words spilling out beyond his control. "I'd never even _heard_ of the Red Room before that." She stiffened, the sudden intensity in her eyes choking the words in his throat. He was suddenly reminded who, exactly, she was.

"He was connected to the Red Room?"

Paul swallowed. "He was, literally, it's father. I'm guessing you know about it. Those twenty eight girls were orphans only because they were . . . ok, so, they took genetic material from Barnes, made wee little embryos and implanted them in fifty women. More than half miscarried, because there was something different about Barnes' DNA. Neither HYDRA nor the KGB ever figured out what,and that's a miracle of its own, but only twenty eight little girls were born, their mothers killed when they were a few years old. He wasn't awake for any of this, until the girls got into their last round of training, when they were about fourteen, fifteen years old. They decided to see if there's a difference in training versus just genetics, so one girl got apprenticed to Barnes as a control, the others to other assets. He taught her everything he knew. Then, they wiped him, and put him back to sleep. They also partially wiped the girls, so they forgot their training-- not the skills or knowledge, but the training itself, then sent these girls out into the world. And within five years, the only one of those twenty eight girls still alive was the one he trained."

He met her eyes, and could tell that she was shaken. "Do you have proof of this?" she finally asked.

"Yeah. I trust you've raided my home by now, should have the paper files from the desk? There's blue folder with the kittens and flowers on the outside. Inside, in the lefthand pocket, the yellow sheet of paper has a login and password. That goes to a DeviantArt account. Login, go to the gallery for that account, into the Ballerina subcategory. Images one through fifteen are encoded. The login and password combine to make the key. Apply to the images, and documentation will appear."

She held up a hand and listened to her little earpiece for a moment. The man was looking at her like she was a revelation. Both their eyes blew wide at the same time, as though he could hear whatever she's hearing. Maybe he could.

"It's been confirmed. . ." her voice was a little weak, a faint line appearing between her eye brows.

The man also frowned. "We will discuss this later," he said.

She nodded. "Sure thing," she suddenly quirks a crooked grin and stifles a slightly hysterical giggle. "Sure thing, Grampy."

The door opened, admitting Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, the first with a Starkpad projecting some very impressive holograms of his Ballerina files, the latter carrying to chairs.

"Thought you two might want to see," Stark said, passing the tablet over as he and Rogers sat down.

Romanov flipped through the files, clearly recognizing their authenticity. She took in a shuddering breath and released it.

"They wiped my memory of this. . . " she scowled. "Is there a way to recover it?"

Paul nodded. "Oh, yeah, Ballerina file sixteen decodes to an audio, though the key is an inversion of the one for the previous files. This is the universal pass phrase to unlock memory. File seventeen counters any HYDRA programming currently in play, and File eighteen puts the person to sleep for fifteen minutes."

She flipped through the screen, calling up file sixteen and running the key against the encryption, revealing an audio file. She looked over to the other men in the room. "If he has lied, you may need to subdue me."

Rogers nodded. "Grampy and I can constrain you if needed while Tony gets a tranq. If needed. We won't let you hurt us."

Romanov nodded, then touched the screen. The sound of birdsong filled the air for two seconds, before stopping. Romanov had paled, gripping the edge of the table, her breath quick and uneven. There was a sound from the ceiling.

"You okay, Nat?" Rogers asked.

She nodded, her movement jerky and uneven. "Yes. Yes, I remember, now." She sniffed sharply, eyes suspiciously bright. "I remember. He was. . .very strict, very demanding. But when others weren't around, he would call me Lapushka, or Solnyshko. And he would let me call him Papa. He told me that the world was hard, the the people around us were no good. That they stole away his heart, and kept a leash on his brain, and that's how he knew they were no good. He said he didn't know who he was, or anything before waking up in the lab, but he was starting to figure things out.

"At the end of our training, to thank our teachers, we were told to go to them, and tell them that we would do anything they wanted to show our gratitude. I think. . . I think they thought all the teachers would bed the girls. But he. . . he took me dancing." Her voice wavered, and the man put a hand over hers in comfort. "And there, all he asked was for me to promise him something. He wanted me to promise that if I ever had the chance, that I would run away, that I would get free of the people that held us. After. . . after they wiped me, I could not remember making that promise. But I had the desire to leave. That's why, when Hawkeye made the offer, I took it."

Again a sound came from the ceiling, and the others all looked up to the vent above Paul's head. The man at the table smiled, and then a voice came from the air-vent. "I have the scariest damn inlaws. . ."

As probably intended, the words broke the tension in the room, Romanov breaking into a grin even as tears finally made their way down her cheeks. The man called Grampy turned back to Paul as Romanov collected herself. "Continue with your story," he demanded, and Paul took a deep breath.

"Okay, okay, so, yeah, I read everything. Every time he'd been pulled out of cryo, every time he was let loose in the world, every time they wiped him. It was . . . amazing, inspiring, because put all together, I could see. I could see that James Barnes _never_ stopped trying to come back. But HYDRA couldn't see it, because it didn't occur to them that it would be possible. They knew that the longer he was out of cryo, the less efficient he got. But they didn't look at the details. The longest time he was out was when he trained that girl. . .er, Miz Romanov. There are notes in the file from the handlers about how the Asset was starting to show signs of affection, of preference. Making choices on his own, of some times speaking in English with a heavy American accent when he was distracted by something. They called these things glitches, like he was just a machine, because. . .because that's what they convinced themselves he was."

Paul shook his head. "It was so brilliantly clear, so quickly, what was wrong, and why HYDRA couldn't see it. See, the most fundamental problem with HYDRA is that, despite whatever grand speech they might use to brainwash useful idiots, they are, at the core of their being, hardline materialists. And because of that, they are constantly making the same essential mistake that hardline materialists _always_ make-- they confuse cause and effect, cause and symptom, _all the time_."

The man smiled, and it was both reassuring and frightening at the same time. "See, HYDRA, like a lot of scientists, believed that the mind and the personality arise out of the brain. Control the brain, control the rest, right? And the brain was clearly just a biologic computer, so get someone who knows the brain and computers and viola! Program the brain, program a person. And, in small tests, with little things, this works. But it doesn't scale up, especially if you start on someone who's already lived their life. The mind and personality will try to reset. A lot of people can't all the way, because the brain does have an effect, and if the brain doesn't heal, the personality cannot reassert itself. But, with someone who heals like Barnes heals. . .brain damage is no longer a barrier."

"But didn't you just say that mind doesn't come from brain?" Romanov asked, head tilting in thought.

"Indeed," Paul nodded. "The brain is the biologic interface between the mind and the body. The body itself is just an interface for the world, like a spacesuit. I mean, Iron Man is the most meta thing to happen to a human in _ages_. The mind pre-exists the brain. The brain grows according to template of the mind, not the other way around. And the personality is like. . . programming that builds, changes and adapts according to data input and output. It's sort of the accumulated data of both brain and mind. So, if the brain is damaged, that means that the interface the mind uses to communicate is damaged. Data cannot be properly processed by the mind while the brain is damaged. That's also why personality changes can happen with brain damage-- because damaging the brain has an effect on the data accumulated that creates the personality.

"Start early enough, and keep at it long enough, and it can become somewhat permanent. Memory suppression is basically targeted brain damage, to block the mind from processing memories properly. Likewise all the other techniques we used. It can be permanent if the brain cannot heal enough. However, if the brain can heal, then all of that will eventually fall apart because the mind will reassert control. _Always."_

"So," Paul continued, slowly stretching his bound limbs as best he could. "So I knew what was wrong. Barnes was healing, even in cryo, though at a much slower rate, so his mind was constantly working to reassert control. The longer he was out of cryo, the faster he healed, and the more he came back to himself. I suspect it had something to do with his genetics."

The man smirked at this, looking pleased. Paul ignored the implications of that reaction, and continued. "But, hell was I gonna explain that to them. So, I told them that maybe Zola's experiments had been more successful than first thought, and that was why his brain kept healing and undoing all the damage the mind breaker machines were doing. So then, they wanted me to fix the problem, stop his glitching, which was stupid, because the reason he was their best was the same reason he was healing and thus 'glitching'. But I said, okay, sure, I'll have to change the programming some, and maybe he won't last as long, but you can be guaranteed that for that shorter time, he won't glitch."

"And they were like 'Ok, fine, just stop the glitching.' I was the only one who really understood what was happening, and it took me a couple days to realize the implication of that-- that if I was the guy who understood, and no one else, it meant that I might be able to do things they'd have no idea I was doing. So, instead of just changing a few lines of code, I told them I had to break it all down and start again from the beginning, and it might take a while. And that's just what I did.

"The programming was more intense, so it was more severe but it wouldn't last as long. No more month long or longer missions. Nothing longer than a week but, for that week, he'd be compliant. Just as I'd said. But I put other programming in, loosening the hold that had been on him for so long, counters to all the control words and control phrases. I put in phrases to break any active command from HYDRA, and phrases to trigger memory reactivation. And then, by this time the internet was really taking off, I hid the data across the internet, in plain sight. The kitty folder has a receipt from a McDonald's trip from 2004, on the back of which is scrawled the passwords for that info, and the keys to decrypt it. I've copied it to several other sites more recently. These sites are listed in the 'fun stuff' bookmarks in my browser.

"Then those aliens invaded, and there was Captain America, like King Freaking Arthur, or Jesus Himself, back to save us in our time of need. And I realized that the great love story that had saved my life back in the seventies wasn't over. Captain Rogers was still alive, Sergeant Barnes was still alive. It was only a matter of time before Rogers came after HYDRA, or HYDRA went after Rogers. And I knew that HYDRA would use their best to go after someone like the Captain. It was so cruel to even contemplate. So, I changed the programming again. I had to be careful, because it couldn't be obvious. Barnes had to function as expected until he was able to completely break free. No halfway wake-ups . . . and I fucked it up. I chose the wrong damn anchor. I chose his name, but that was . . . too reflexive. . .

"I saw the reports from DC. After the first confrontation with Rogers. Goddamn, it was heartbreaking, seeing the footage of him in the bunker. . ." he turned to Stark. "In the gallery, sub category _Zero_ , Filename: _Lost Trowa_. Decrypt with the file next to it, _4 x 3_."

Stark sighed. "You are such a weeb," he remarked while accessing the files.

"What does that make the man who gets the reference?" Paul replied. "You should know this is a bit hard to watch . . ."

Rogers' brow furrowed. "We need to see this," he scowled. " _I_ need to see this."

"You sure, Cap?" Tony asked, hesitating over the file. "We could wait, you know. For some more privacy?"

Rogers shook his head. "Now, please. I need to know."

"Ok. . ." Stark still sounded dubious, but hit the button anyway.

Rogers managed to contain himself as he watched Pierce hit Barnes when the letter failed to give a verbal report. Barnes' lost expression, almost childish in its confusion, as he asked about the man on the bridge. "I knew him," Barnes said. Even after Pierce's pontifications, Barnes clearly didn't care, and still insisted, "But I _knew_ him!". Rogers choked back a distressed whine, fingers denting the metal arm rests on his chair. These bent and broke as Barnes meekly accepted the mouth guard before his muffled screams filled the air.

Stark had the sense to cut off the recording. "I'm guessing that was the most important part."

Paul nodded, glancing warily at Rogers' enraged visage. "Y-yeah. You can see from the beginning that he was having trouble processing what was happening. Pierce's demand for a report should have given him something to latch on to, but he stayed quiet. It may not seem like much, but Pierce knew that it was the start of rebellion, thus the slap-- a primitive dominance display. But even then, when he spoke, it wasn't to report, it was to ask about Rogers. The _only_ thing that he could hold on to was Rogers. Nothing else was processing through."

He shook his head. "The technicians there knew how to run the machine, but they weren't programmers. That was only me. I had two, maybe three minutes to quickly tweak the programming, make it look like a wipe until he was with Captain America. Before, I'd tried to tie it to his name, but that wasn't enough because it didn't give his mind anything to hold onto _outside_ of itself. I had to make a cue that was dependent on someone else. The best I could do was remembering what the Commandos had written. They wrote about this toast they had: " _Until the end of the line_." They wrote that they'd gotten if from Cap and Sarge, and in the later interviews, they said that between the two of them, it always sounded more like wedding vows. So I gambled that it's something that Cap might say to try and spark Barnes' memories. So that became the phrase to override HYDRA's programming. I couldn't release his memories at that point, because there was so much damage to his brain-- the brain had to heal some, first. But I _could_ counter most of the rest of the conditioning. It's all I could do. It's the only thing I've been able to do. I wish I could have gotten him free, Captain. But I'm . . . I'm not good enough . . . "

". . . Actually, you were." Rogers' voice was tight but clear. "I _did_ say those words and. . . he stopped trying to kill me. He had been fighting the programming before, I think. He had been getting wild and desperate with his attacks. But when I said those words, he just froze. Then I fell, and he dove after me, and pulled me onto the shore. I just . . . wish he'd stuck around . . ." He took a deep, shuddering breath.

Paul nodded. "I can't imagine how terrified he was. Especially if he was starting to remember you, how _horrified_ he must have been at how he'd hurt you. He probably left because he was running on instinct as his mind was still trying to reassert itself. His brain, even with his advanced healing, is _still_ probably healing. So very little is processing right, and everything was overwhelming. . ."

He sighed, slumping in his seat. "That's everything I know. Any other files I found were also encoded. The general rule is that in any given category of the gallery, the first file is the encoded data, the second the key. The kitty folder has passkeys for a few other things, I have some things encoded in places like YouTube, a couple blogs, and some fanfiction. Between my browser bookmarks and what's in that folder, you'll find everything I copied. It's . . .not much, not in the general scheme of things, but it's all I could figure out. I am . . . so very sorry I couldn't do more. It has been killing me, what I knew . . . that I had a hand in such _abominations_ . . ."

He bit his lips as he fell quiet, the Avengers in the room exchanging significant glances.

The man called Grampy finally spoke. "These days, I go by the name Gabriel Barnes. I am the grandfather of the Barnes you worked on."

Paul inhaled. "The Barnes DNA. . . his DNA was strange. . . wow, okay, that might explain a thing or two. . ."

Gabriel nodded. "Yes. We are. . . different. God has blessed me with many children, all of which have made me quite proud." He gently patted Romanov's folded hands as he said this. "Because of those differences, there is a way that you can be of added assistance. If you are willing."

Paul slowly nodded. "What do you need?"

"A relay," Gabriel replied. "My son, James' father, is recently awoken and in search of his son. My son is the best tracker of the family, and always knows where we are. However, right now he and I lack a way of communicating directly. You, however, can provide a relay. I can. . . call his attention, in a way, and he would speak with your voice and hear with your ears. I believe he already has a faint connection to you, somehow."

"Your son would. . . possess me?" Paul swallowed, unsure of how he felt about the idea.

"Not . . . _exactly_. He would remain in his own body, but his awareness would be transmitted through you. And when we were done communicating, he would withdraw, leaving you as you were. No damage, no side effects, just maybe a lingering funny taste in your mouth. And in establishing communication, I would be able to meet with them, and we both would be able to help James heal. We and other family members can provide the physical and emotional environment he needs to get better."

Paul looked over at Rogers. "Can he really do this, Sir?" he asked.

The Captain nodded. "I've known Grampy my whole life. He's pretty impressive. If he says he can do it, he can and will. Bucky needs people that love him, and I understand that I might be a little much, even though I wish it were otherwise."

"Okay," Paul nodded his head. "Whatever you need, I'll do it."

Gabriel smiled. "Open your mouth and say Ahh. . ."

Paul frowned, then complied. Gabriel opened his own at the same time, and drew his thumb along the point of a sharp, descending fang. He then pressed the bloody thumb onto Paul's tongue. "Relax," he crooned. "Let go care and float away. . ." Paul's eyes fluttered shut. "That's right. . . good boy. . . so very helpful . . . just float away. . . good . . ."

Paul's body suddenly relaxed. Gabriel smiled. "Excellent. Now, Adrian, I would speak with you. . ."

Silence descended in the room as they waited. Gabriel had to call Adrian's name a few more times before Paul's eyes snapped open, his facial expressions very different. Gabriel removed his thumb. "Adrian," he spoke more firmly. "Do you hear me?"

Eyes tracked around the room. "Pops?" Paul's face morphed into happiness. "Thank God, I had no idea how to find you! I'm guessing you know about James?"

Gabriel nodded in relief. "Yes. I was hoping to come join you. HYDRA has done great harm to him, and he'll need his family if we are to bring him back to Steve."

"Oh, yes, _him_!" Paul's eyes tracked over to where Steve was sitting on the edge of his seat. "Bucky was briefly imprisoned in the same holding room as I. We were both in cryo, but it works differently for us. We knew they were going to take his memories, so he let me copy his memories into mine. I'm so glad you're here in this time."

"You . . " Steve swallowed. "You know. .. _about_ us?"

Paul's head nodded. "You are the center of his every thought, it would be hard not to. I'll be able to transfer the memories back when I get to him, that should help stabilize him somewhat. . ." He turned back to Gabriel. "Paul is telling me about. . . " her turned to Natasha. "You? You are my granddaughter?"

She nodded, unable to form words.

Paul's face grew wobbly. "I look forward to getting to know you. Paul says you are most formidable, and if your skill matches your beauty, then who in the world could be your peer?"

"Only my Papa, who taught me." She replied, smiling.

Paul's face smiled gently. "welcome to the family, dear. Perhaps we shall chat at a later time." he turned back to Gabriel."We're on our way to Lima, Peru. James is on his way there, maybe a day ahead of us."

"We?" Gabriel asked.

"Uh, yes, a couple of . . ." Paul's eyes squinted in thought. "You remember when Steve was young, and he traded stories with you, and he told you the story about the Two Ravens? And how you postulated it might be related to the more universal tale of the Hero Twins?" Gabriel and Steve nodded. "Well, I'm with them. A couple of twin Irishmen from Massachusetts. They took out the HYDRA facility on Boston where I was being held. Twins, impeccable aim, incredible luck, habit of leaving coins on the eyes of those they kill . . ."

"Oh my God," the air vent muttered.

"The _Saints?!_ " Tony exclaimed.

"Oh, you know of them, Stark? They'll be pleased to hear that. . ." Paul's face turned to the side, addressing someone that wasn't there. "Hey Connor, Tony Stark knows who you two are. . .  yes, quite something. . . oh, might you have some paper and a pen? I need to get my father's phone number. . . thank you, I'll be back with you in a bit. .. okay, Pops, you have one of those fancy portable phones?"

Gabriel pulled out a Starkphone 3. "Oh, that's nice," Adrian admired through Paul's eyes. "I've got a cheap burner Nokia. Think you could bring me one of those?"

"Oh, don't you worry," Tony interjected. "You all are getting completely hooked up with things so shiny the FCC won't allow me to release them to the general public. Yet, because it's not over until the fat lawyer sings, but in the meantime, you will be on the bleeding edge of Stark tech, which is the best tech, so you will be well taken care of in that regards." He titled his head as he listened to someone on an earpiece. "Question for you, though: How do you know where Sergeant Barnes is going?"

Paul's lips thinned briefly. "I . . . inherited some of my father's talents, some of them in a more developed state than his own. I've always been able to think about a family member and know where they are. In this case, I think of my son, I know where he is. Also, I know there's a HYDRA nest down in Lima because decades ago, one of the scientists looked into my eyes a little too long, and being otherwise cryogenically frozen, I had nothing better to do than to piggy-back on his consciousness until I had awareness of every member of the lot."

Tony looked at the one way mirror, nodding to someone on the other side. "Yeah, maybe. It would certainly . . ." He turned back to where Adrian watched through Paul's eyes. "If we provided you an interface connected to our systems, do you think you could input the data for those members you know of? Once we know who they are, we can track them and act as appropriate."

"Oh, that's. . . yes, yes I should be able to do that. To be honest, I'm getting used to all this technology, but our family is nothing if not adaptable. That's very nice of you Mister Stark. Thank you, thank you very much. Okay, Pops, let's wrap this up so Paul can come back to where he belongs. Here's my phone number. . ."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dutch Commands for Dogs (Since those are what Bear is trained to respond to):http://leerburg.com/knpvcommands.htm
> 
> For those not as familiar with Bear the Dog: http://personofinterest.wikia.com/wiki/Bear
> 
> For a nice overview of Tours of Duty, esp during Vietnam: http://www.answers.com/Q/How_long_was_a_typical_tour_of_duty_in_Vietnam
> 
> Russian diminutives for children: http://www.meighan.net/alexander/Chapter17.htm  
> Russian for "Daddy": http://en.bab.la/dictionary/english-russian/daddy
> 
> Well, this got a bit serious. I want to state, upfront, that some of the best men I knew growing up were Vietnam Veterans. They were good husbands, good fathers, and good friends of my family. Some had a rougher time, though. My uncle Lester only came home in a box, and got his name carved on a couple of memorials, so I'll never know how he would have fared, because I never got to know him. But the treatment of many of those men and women when they returned was shameful. Too many had too little support (even now, too many have too little support, even though I think wall would agree that things have improved), and too many people here at home were spoilt lil' bastards with bigger mouths than balls. Protesting things and giving policy-makers ALL THE SH*T is awesome and as American as tossing British Tea into large bodies of water, but assaulting and yelling at people you don't know is reprehensible. 
> 
> There are now far more resources for veterans and their loved ones, including: http://maketheconnection.net/, http://www.veteranscrisisline.net/, everyone listed here http://www.va.gov/vso/, http://www.vfw.org/Assistance/, http://www.realwarriors.net/, and others. Please, if you or someone you love is having difficulty, there is help.
> 
> Sorry but not really for the rant. Military service, as active duty or civilian support, is present in my family for every generation we have info on, back to 1066, when Sir Hugh Morrill crossed from Normandy to Britain (gee, I wonder why?). This is something very close to my heart, so I'm glad I was born after the Vietnam Era had passed, or else I would have gotten into a lot of trouble growing up. . . [hell, I still get into trouble in the net, sometimes. . .]
> 
> AAaaaannnnnd finally: One commenter was interested in seeing the Barnes Family Tree (which is currently scribbled on the back of a shopping list). If anyone else is interesting in this sort of "Appendix" data, let me know, and I'll turn this into a series, with a separate "Story" for things like "Appendix A: The Barnes Family Tree" or "Appendix B: Children's Stories", etc., etc. . . But I need to see interest if I'm to give the time for something like that. So, if interested, lemme know. K, Thnx, bye! <3
> 
> Questions, comments, sensible critique is welcome!


	6. Familia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first rule of my writing: It always takes longer than I think it will. Sorry for the delay, but I've actually been figuring out where this is going (theme wise, that is. I knew how it ended back when I started it, but didn't know all the major steps in between. I know them now).
> 
> 2nd rule: Just because I say in the comments that a thing shall happen in the next chapter, like. .. what the crap do I know? If I say a thing will happen, it will, just. . . maybe not when I said.
> 
> Okay, so about this chapter: One, the scene with Natasha I wrote back in early March. I only saw AOU this past Saturday. So there's some, er, co-incidence. Not spoilers, but. . . some similar thinking. (Also, FTR, this will be Canon No-compliant starting with AOU and on. Remember, this is all part of Civil War Denial. . .)  
> Two: One scene is from the POV of Bear the Dog. As such, characters don't have their normal names. I'll list in the ending notes who is who, but try to guess!  
> Three: I have the outline for the next three chapters written out-- it was supposed to be the outline for this chapter.  
> Four: Grampy and Corporal Bear are from Darth Stitch's Count Buckula Verse (and variations). Other familiar characters are from their respective creators. And some of the rest are mine.  
> Five: There are notes at the end. I invite you to read them.  
> Six: for those not as familiar with PoI, Decima is the name of the group behind Samaritan. They function much like Hydra in many ways, only smaller.  
> Seven: The last Crosssover will be introduced in the next chapter. I've known since before I started writing this fic that this crossover would happen, so it's not a spur of the moment thing. If I write any sequels, there may be further curssovers at that time, but right now, we're going to stick with what we have, and what will be added next chapter.  
> eight: Enjoy!

There was . . . a man.

A man, walking out of the blue waves.

This alone was not that unusual, as this was a small island surrounded by crystal blue waters and populated with a popular-in-certain-circles bar owned by twin Rastafarian brothers. (It was also very popular with the local ladies who liked to come "supervise the twins, you know those two!"). What _was_ unusual is that no one had seen him enter the water, nor were there any boats out on the water as far as the eye could see.

Also, _he had a metal arm_.  

Jose frowned, unsure of which fact was more unusual. The arm was familiar, though. Hadn't he seen something on the television just the other day? Oh, right.

"Ey, Ernesto!" he called back to the thatch-shaded bar. "I think you should come see this, esse. . ."

The man so called stepped out, squinting in the light and still holding on to his bottle of beer.

"What is it this time, Jo-" the man slowed to a stop, clearly flummoxed. "oh Maria, Madre Dios . . ." he muttered. He frowned, adjusting his weathered, beat up ball cap.

"eh, Sargento!" he called out. "This a long way from your home, amigo. You need help or somethin'?" 

The man with the metal arm stood warily under palm tree. "you know me?" he asked, dripping onto the hot, pale sand.

Ernesto shrugged. "Sure. You rescued mi Nana from Birkenwald, back then. So, my family owes you a lot, you know?"

"I don't remember," the man frowned.

"Yeah, that's what El Capitan said on the television . . . "

There was a pause, the incoming tide filling the silence. "Where am I?" he finally asked. "This doesn't look like Cuba . . ."

"Ha!" Jose shared a look with Ernesto. "Esse, this is Placentia, off Belize. Long way from Havana. How you end up here?"

The flesh arm raised briefly in an elegant shrug. "The timer must have been poorly calibrated. The C4 went of too early. Then I was in the water, and then. . . there was . . . a. . ." he paused, making a peculiar waving motion with his metal hand, face twisted as though trying hard to recall a word. "A whale?"

"Like Jonás?" Jose was impressed. He didn't think whales generally went for metal bait.

"It didn't eat me," The man frowned. "It was like. . . a bed. That moved. And sang." He leaned back on the tree, the dripping slowly coming to a stop. "Which way to Peru?" he asked.

Jose turned to look at Ernesto with incredulous eyes. The part about the whale had been strange enough, _but this!_

"I see the Hand of God in this." Ernesto's voice was somewhere between awe and annoyance. "I am from Lima, and will be leaving here in a few hours to start on my way back, so I do not miss my daughter Esperanza's quinze. My ship is small as cargo goes, but we can go faster than the big ones. Get you there in nine, maybe ten days, if we push it."

"Because I rescued your grandmother?" The man seemed confused as to why anyone would offer him help.

Ernesto shrugged. "And because I think you would be good for security. Not all the inspectors at the Canal are honest men, you know? So you can glare at them for me when I go sign annoying paperwork, and I will take you to Callao in Lima."

The roar of the surf filled the silence as the men stared at each other, clouds scudding across the sky, throwing fitful patches of shade across the sand. Finally the man stepped forward. "I need water, and food, then I'll be ready to go." 

 *     *     *

 

" . . . and Fury wasn't exactly _happy_ about it, but he wasn't exactly _against_ it, either, and Coulson had our back, so. . . that's how I brought Nat in." Clint let loose a big breath as he finished. "From then on, we were Strike Team Delta, before we helped with setting up the Avengers." He fidgeted with a stray field tip, rolling it nervously between his fingers as he ran out of words.

Gabriel smiled and sipped his wine. "And the two of you have been . . . _together_ . . . all that time?" 

Clint shook his head slightly. "It took Nat some time to, er, trust enough, even though everyone was publicly giving me _all_ the crap for my obvious crushing. . ."

"I was used to men being more. . . forthright. In demanding my attention." Nat shrugged. "You just followed me around with those puppy-eyes. Very disconcerting at first. . ."

"But you are together now?" Gabriel was still smiling, but Clint still felt a sudden chill.

He swallowed nervously. "Er, yes, sir." He cleared his throat, the fidgeting getting worse.

"And, Clinton Barton, are you wed to my granddaughter?"

"Oh God, Nat, you've _killed_ me. I'm a dead man." Clint sighed. "I've _tried_ , sir. Every six months I ask, and every six months she pats my cheek and says ' _Not this time, Ptichka_.'"

Nat patted his arm fondly. "Like clockwork. He has a collection of rings with lovely stones that I have rejected."

At this, Gabriel frowned. "If he is worthy of your trust and your time. . . worthy of your companionship. . . why do you reject him while holding on to him?"

Natasha frowned, remembering how poorly Clint had handled her first rejection of his proposal. "It's not like that, Grampy." Although he'd gotten better at hiding his disappointment, she could tell he still felt it each time. "I'm . . ." She fumbled for words, huffing in frustration. "He's so great with children. Sometimes, we do charity events, and he always takes the events with children. He's so good with them. I watch him, how he makes them smile, how he keeps them from getting into too much trouble, and I know he'd make a wonderful father. An _amazing_ father."

"But I can't be a mother," she continued, softly. "The Red Room took that from me, and . . . I don't know how to _be_ around children. I can not marry him if I cannot be a good mother, because he shouldn't be denied the chance to be a father . . ." she trailed off. "But I find I am unable to let him go, either. Because I am selfish, and if I let him go, the world will flatten and fade."

Gabriel frowned. "It is good your aunts are coming, they will be able to help you more than I can with . . . things like motherhood and. . ." he shifted in his seat, "and what it is to be a woman of our blood. I do not know how things may be for you, since you came into being in such a _novel_ way, but the abilities we manifest respond to need, or great desire. It is . . . _possible_ , that if you desired it enough, your could regain at least the physical parts that the Red Room stole from you."

Natasha blinked, stone-faced with surprise. "I could. . .?"

"And even if not," Gabriel continued. "There is always adoption."

Almost shyly -- but not, because Natasha Alianova Romanoff was _never_ shy, about _anything_ \-- but _almost_ shyly, she glanced at Clint out of the corner of her eye. He was trying desperately hard to not look hopeful as he returned her sideways glance. "Perhaps," she conceded hesitantly. "Perhaps. . . once I have spoken to my Aunts. . . perhaps I will. . . _re-evaluate_. . ."

 Clint could not prevent the small, tight smile from pushing it's way through his lips.

"Good," Gabriel nodded. "In that case, Clint, should you marry my Granddaughter, I must know that you know what it means."

"What it . . . means?" Clint tried not to look cornered.

The older man nodded. "It is clear that whatever other gifts may or may not have manifested, Natasha already shows the slow aging of our family." He said. "This means that you will grow old, while she remains young. Your children, also, will likely stop aging when they are somewhere between twenty eight and thirty five years old. But you will continue to age, even as they stay young. And as a family, we consider it not allowable to turn mortals. Not even for love, no matter how deep or strong." He leaned back in his seat. "Some people have trouble with this idea."

Clint nodded. "Seems Nat would be getting the raw end of _that_ deal," he grinned. "I'll be a tottering curmudgeon, at best, while she's still amazingly hot."

She lightly swatted him with the back of her hand.

"Why no turning?" She asked. "Or. . .why such a hard rule against it?"

Gabriel hummed in thought for a moment. "It might be hard to explain easily. The atheism of this time is so . . . strange." He idly turned his glass of wine in his fingers. "It is a luxury that is impossible to maintain in the long-term. I have seen too much, over too much time, that it is, really, no longer a matter of faith. Our new friend Mr. Hoffman had it exactly right, that the physical arises out of mind, and not the other way around. That our bodies are biological encounter suits. Humans, the true being of what a human is, is not native to this world. To this plane of existence. In the normal course of things, we come, we visit, we go home. This--" he gestured to their surroundings with an elegant flick of his fingers "-- is not our home. It is a place we come to visit, to learn, but not to stay. To turn someone, then, is to imprison them. To force them into unnaturally long exile. Love does not do such a thing to the beloved."

Clint thought on this a minute. "Doesn't that hurt?"

"Immeasurably." Gabriel replied, eyes distant. "For a long time, the pain of outliving Mirena, Ingeras, and all his children, drove me mad. For centuries, the grief tore my mind and soul asunder. I was every bit the monster your legends remember me being. But, God had mercy, and allowed me to know love again, when I met Adrian's mother. She was . . . _fierce_ , and could out-stubborn the worst of mules. She would not accept that I was a monster, she somehow knew that grief had driven me mad, and was -- rather foolishly-- determined to lance the festering wounds of my heart and see me whole again." He huffed. "It took her ten years to get through to me, while I protected her. She lived alone, in Bucharest, which was exceedingly dangerous at that time."

"After fifteen years, I realized I'd come to love her. And the whole time, she would accept no suitors, nor join any convent. At the time this was _most_ unusual. But. . . she accepted my suit, and we had a small wedding-- only us, a priest, and two of her dearest friends as witnesses. The fact that I could stand upon sacred ground without pain was a marvel, let me tell you. We lived together very happily, even when we had to come to America. Losing her was just as painful as losing Mirena. But now, I understood what a privilege, what a _gift_ it is to be able to feel such a thing."

"God has been exceedingly merciful to me. He has allowed me to know love again, to have a family again. It was not until much later that I realized that all the children born from after I turned were longer-lived. To be allowed to know my son, my grandchildren, their children and grandchildren. . . it is such a blessing. And, it is stabilizing. We stabilize each other, because part of being what we are is treasuring the precious souls God deigns allow us to love, and then letting them go back to Him without us, spinning the bonds of love into eternity. So yes, it _hurts_. And we grieve. But. . . we also find that we rejoice in our grieving. We find it a source of hope and joy. Which. . . may seem odd, but I'm not sure how best to explain. . ."

Clint nodded. "Like, being happy that you're hurting somewhere you were afraid had serious nerve damage. It hurts, but you know you're not as injured as you thought you might have been. The pain means things are still working right."

 "Something like that, yes. . . "

***

 

"It would make sense," Tony conceded. "Decima would have to have been in good with the bureaucracy, so even if they didn't know, it's very likely that they _were_ part of Hydra."

"And considering what Jarvis has discovered about the entangled reach of Samaritan, targeting Decima would be more effective." Harold agreed, sipping from the tea John had prepared for him. "Although. . ." he stiffened in thought. "Jarvis, considering how catastrophic complete removal of Samaritan might be to American infrastructure, what would you think of, perhaps, a worm that instead of _disabling_ , instead _en_ abled. . .  that _added_ programming to Samaritan . . .?"

"Enhancement _away_ from Skynet. hmm . . ." Tony mused as Jarvis calculated.

The AI was hesitant. "It would depend on the programming," he finally answered. "Something that conflicted with the base programming of Samaritan would be rejected. But if, instead, it steered that programming. . . it might be accepted. Between you, Sir, and myself, we have the best chance of anyone of writing a successful enhancement. And Miss Groves would be the individual with the most chance at delivering it. . ."

Tony made a face. "Root. . . really? Jarvis, I don't like her . . ."

"Be that as it may, Sir, but she is one of the best in the world and, to be frank, she is more expendable than you or Mister Finch."

"Aww, J, you say the sweetest--"

"Pardon the interruption, Sir, but I am detecting Einstein-Rosen energy incoming to the tower's landing platform."

Tony paused.  "Thor? But he wasn't due back unt-- oh. _Oh!_ " He quickly signed for Jarvis to save his work. "Back in a few, Harold, gotta go make sure my friends play nice!"

*     *     *

 

Bear was generally pleased with the new habitation the pack leaders had chosen. It was warmer, for one, and it seemed that their small pack had more or less merged with a larger pack, who also had a fellow canine whose name translated into "Most-Fortunate." He would have been uneasy, but he had known from the beginning that his human-pack was strange. When he was first rescued from the Stupid Humans by Shadow-That-Speaks, he'd thought for sure that his male was surely the alpha. But then, he'd taken him to the Den of Dead Trees, and he found that Shadow gave way to Most-Clever, who was the real alpha. He'd heard that often, human packs were led by the cleverest, not the strongest, and that seemed to be the case this time. Most-Clever had an injury, though, and that's when Bear realized that was his purpose-- because Shadow couldn't always protect Most-Clever, so they needed Bear to help. Which he was very glad to do, especially since Most-Clever was good at finding food and water.

And toys.

Bear really liked the round treats with holes in the middle that Shadow sometimes would bring Most-Clever. Shadow was always bringing Most-Clever something to eat or drink.

Then She-is-Cold had joined, but no pups were made, which confused Bear. He'd heard that sometimes the females didn't want pups, but Bear didn't understand-- Shadow was very strong, and good with hunting, while Most-Clever was truly the Most-Clever. It turned out that She-is-Cold was very good at hunting, too. There were others, as well: Ground-in-the-Sun (Bear thought that perhaps Shadow had wanted to sire pups with her, but then she didn't come home, and Shadow howled from an injury Bear couldn't find), and Clumsy-Loud-One (who was fun to play with),and Barks-to-Sky, who was. . . tolerated by Most-Clever, though Bear found her likeable enough.

But the pack was hunted, sometimes, and Den of Dead Trees was abandoned for Underground Den. But then this new pack had come, and they'd joined them in Den Near the Clouds.

This other pack was lead by a large alpha that the two dogs had labelled "He-Shines", though the den itself was maintained by Shell-of-Sun-and-Blood, Barks-from-the-Walls, and She-Burns. Also living in the den were the males Wolf-in-a-Cage, Eyes-Like-Hawk's, and the females Spider-that-Waits, Howls-for-Storms, and Lightning-Claws.

Bear liked all of them. They were good humans.

But then, they came back from a hunt with a new member, and for the first time since he'd been rescued by Shadow, Bear was afraid. This new thing was not human, even though it looked like one. It was a predator, reeking of blood and ozone and the night. It was very, very dangerous, and he wasn't going to let it hurt Most-Clever. But then, He-Shines had said that Dark Blood was _good_.  He-Shines, being what he was, would know of course.

But Bear was still uncertain. He sat at the edge of the metal cliff at the edge of the Den, watching the birds below. He-Shines was clever and strong, and not to be doubted. But Dark Blood was very scary.

He was very pleased, then, to hear the thunder that marked the arrival of Speaks-to-All. Perhaps this one could sort it out? Bear stood and waited patiently as the large male approached, throwing off nearly as much light as He-Shines. "Greetings, friend Bear!" the man spoke. "How fares the den?"

Bear quickly brought him up to date. "Indeed, He-Who-Sees-All told me of this Dread Creature of Blood and Shadow. I am come to see for myself and ascertain if he be pack ally of fell foe." Speaks-to-All replied. "Perhaps you can take me to him?" 

Bear barked in agreement. Speaks-to-All would have this sorted in no time.

 *     *     *

 

"Thor!" Steve beamed from where he stood in the lounge, slowly packing a duffel bag with various items. "We weren't expecting you back for another couple of weeks. Is everything alright?" 

Sam and Reece looked up from where they'd be huddled together near the bar. Both were fond of Thor, but also unsure of how to interact with him.

"Friend Steven, our fair Captain!" Thor boomed, sweeping in for a robust hug. "Indeed, I was to remain in Vanaheim for a short while longer, but Heimdall brought me forth with the news of your new ally, a development that has elicited no small concern in Asgard." He looked directly at Gabriel, who didn't seem troubled at all.

"New ally?" Steve mused, eyebrow raised. "Well, I don't know why Grampy would be a cause for concern. . ."

Thor narrowed his eyes. "I am told he is a dread creature of blood and shadow. Say you otherwise?"

"Oh, well, _that_ . . ." Steve shrugged. "I guess so. He's Bucky's grandfather, though, and the man was the closest thing I had a father growing up. Everything I know about honor and being a man, I learned from him."

Thor furrowed his brow as he took in the implications of that. He started nodding slowly as Tony stepped off the elevator. "Hey, Point Break, I see you've met the extended family."

"Master Stark, I am just now getting introduced."

Gabriel finally stood, slowly and gracefully. "In this time, I am called Gabriel Barnes. But, formerly, I was known as _Wladislaus Dragwlya, vaivoda partium Transalpinarum_. Sometimes known among my foes as _Kazıklı Bey_."

"Do you share your name with the Dracul of legend, or _are_ you him?" Thor asked, focused.

"I am he." Gabriel admitted. "The legends tell the time of my madness which, _Deo Gracias_ , has come to an end."

Thor frowned. "What was it caused such legendary madness, and what was the cure?"

"The loss of my heart as all I loved withered and died," Gabriel smiled softly. "And it's return by way of the stubbornness of a feisty woman."

"Ha!" Thor seemed nearly surprised by his own bark of laughter, finally holding out his hand in greeting. "I know much of stubborn, feisty women, and the mysterious way they change the life of a man. My home and this tower teems with such."

"Ain't that the truth," Tony agreed, relieved that the initial tension had finally broken. "Hey, Steve, what's with bag?"

Steve blushed a little, but smiled, also relieved that Thor had accepted Grampy. "It's a care package for Bucky. The Commandos had donated most of our things to the Smithsonian, and they gave me back his and my things. So I'm getting together things that might, you know, help him. The bag's got pockets that are just the right size for the things you're gonna donate, too, so Grampy will only have to keep track of one package for him."

Tony struggled to keep his curiosity to only-mildly-offensive levels. "So, what does one send to one's ninety year old daywalker-amnesiac-assassin boyfriend?"

Steve reached into the bag with a small smile. "His combat rosary." He pulled out a length of age-dulled bronze beads. "Also his prayer book and an updated copy, dog tags,"

"But not _his_ dogs tags, I notice" Tony interrupted.

"copies of _The Hobbit_ _,_ _The Chronicles of Narnia_ , _The Collected Short Stories of HP Lovecraft_ , and _Good Omens_ ," Steve continued, undeterred. "His trench knife, set of brass knuckles he always had in his pocket, a shirt--"

"--Pretty sure that's _your_ shirt, Cap--"

"lock-picks, some new socks because you can _never_ have enough of those, and our good friend and compatriot, Corporal Bear and his new orders."

Suddenly Sam and Reece were standing next to Steve, looking into the bag. "Corporal Bear O'Beary MacBear?" Sam asked.

"Of Bearston, Massachusetts?" Reece tacked on. "This is the original Corporal Bear?"

Steve looked taken aback. "You know about Corporal Bear?" he asked.

Sam, Reece, and Tony goggled while Gabriel tried to stifle his snickering.

Reece took a deep breath. " _Of course_ I know about Corporal Bear. it was his adventures with Captain Ameribear, Sergeant Bucky Bear, and the Howling Commandos that first got me interested in the military as a young boy. And interest that eventually led to my enlisting and career in the Special Forces. My life was shaped by Corporal Bear. I named my dog after him." He pointed to where Bear-the-dog was sitting by Thor.

 "Ha, I'd been wondering that!" Sam exclaimed, before turning back to Steve. "The Commandos wrote a series of illustrated children's books, back in the '80's, about the adventures of these three military bears, and their unit called the Howling Commandos-- the rest of the members being wolves. Falsworth and Dernier the Trap Wolves, Morita the Samurai Wolf, Jones the Radio Wolf, and Dum-dum, the Strong Wolf."

"There was also Polar Peggy, the lovely white British bear that sometimes showed up to deliver important information and make Captain Ameribear blush," Tony added. "And Colonel Panther Phillips, who didn't think much of the Corporal or Cap Ameribear, but had to admit that the Howlies were good at what they did. Hey, Jarvis, show us some of the copies we have."

A hologram materialized in front of Steve, of several small book with a cheerfully illustrated covers, the titles things like _Corporal Bear Goes to War!_ , _Corporal Bear and the Missing Rations!_ , _Corporal Bear Fights the Cold!_ and _Corporal Bear and the Medicine Forest!_

"They worked the stories into a lot of the Cub Scout programs," Reece noted. "A lot of boys and girls learned basic survival skills from Corporal Bear's adventures."

Sam nodded in agreement. " _Medicine Forest_ is a bit of a thing for collectors, too, because the plants featured were different depending on where it was published, so that the story featured plants that the children might find near their own homes."

Steve's smile was a bit wobbly as he flipped through holographic pages. "Did they tell anyone these stories are loosely based on things that really happened?"

"Really?" Sam, Reece and Tony breathed in unison.

"Yeah, although it was really Sergeant Bucky Bear who lost the rations off the boat that one time. . ." he sighed, blinking rapidly as he noticed that Captain Ameribear and Sergeant Bucky Bear were almost always illustrated side-by-side. "Hey, Tony, you think we could find a copy of one or two of these so I can put them in?"

"Even better," Tony replied. "I'll make sure the entire collection is on the tablet. Hell, the entire Stark library will be on the shared library, I'll just make sure those are already in his 'collection'."

"Thanks, Tony." Steve waved away the holograms. "It's kinda hard to believe that so many things we kept secret from the brass are now common knowledge."

 Tony stepped back, glancing back to Gabriel and Thor before speaking again. "There's not a natural born citizen in this country that didn't grow up loving you and Bucky," he said. "You may have been changed a bit for the children's stories, but even when we studied history in high school and college, only the worst cynics ever had anything bad to say, and they were mostly just bitter old peaceniks who hadn't gotten over Chamberlain's abysmal failures.

"Rhodey is going to be leveraging all that good will. If your boy really is healing, really is on the way back to himself, if he shows the same concern and care for civilians that he's known to have shown back in your war, he'll have most of America and a huge chunk of the world population willing and eager to help him out. It's only a matter of time before 4chan and Tumblr figure out his bit of the Hydra dump, and once they do, once they see how he started to "glitch", started to hesitate, he'll have legion upon legion of fangirls and fanboys ready to do his PR."

Steve blinked. "You really think people will . . . they'll support him?"

"Are you kidding me? Darcy's already started to lay the ground work on various social media sites, and she demanded to have access to Hoffman after Rhodey and the Army lawyers are done with him. Once the data really hits the web, trust me Cap, it's gonna be a thing of beauty."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK!  
> 1) Bear's names to Real Names (People and places) Conversion:  
> Most-Fortunate = Lucky, the Pizza Dog, as featured in the Hawkeye Comics  
> Shadow-that-Speaks = Reece  
> Most-Clever = Finch  
> Den of Dead Trees = Library  
> She-is-Cold = Shaw  
> Ground-in-the-Sun = Joss Carter (Like, the warmth and smell of sun-warmed soil)  
> Clumsy-Loud-One = Fusco  
> Barks-to-Sky = Samantha Groves, aka Root  
> Underground Den = Abandoned subway station  
> Den Near the Clouds = Avengers Tower  
> He-Shines = Steve Rogers  
> Shell-of-Sun-and-Blood = Tony Stark (Iron Man)  
> Barks-from-the-Walls = Jarvis  
> She-Burns = Pepper  
> Wolf-in-a-Cage = Bruce  
> Eyes-like-Hawk's = Clint  
> Spider-that-Waits = Natasha  
> Howls-for-Storms = Jane  
> Lightening-Claws = Darcy  
> Dark Blood = Grampy  
> Speaks-to-All = Thor
> 
>  
> 
> 2) Bucky's Rosary is based on a real thing from WWI and WWII. Here's an article with some pictures : http://www.onepeterfive.com/1916-military-rosary-inspires-new-combat-rosary/ 
> 
> 3) I was thinking the prayer book would be: http://www.amazon.com/Fulton-Sheens-Wartime-Prayer-Book/dp/1928832652  
> And the update because Pope JPII added the Luminous Mysteries to the Rosary, so it might be useful.
> 
> 4) My rant for this chapter: It really bothers me when I read fics describing snipers as cowards (and as an extension, our Bucko as a coward, for taking the sniper role). Seriously, anyone that's written something like that needs to learn a little something about urban warfare. 
> 
> I realize that in CA:TFA, they showed Bucky sniping in a forest battle, picking off enemies to protect Cap and yeah, okay, I'll accept that in that setting. But the real value of a sniper is found in an urban setting, where militants and civilians are crammed into the same space, where civilians are in great danger of becoming collateral damage from explosions, stray/ missed shots, and the general fog of war. You know how to minimize such casualties? By using extraordinarily precise measures. Precise measures that keep as much engaged combat away from the civilians, even when your opponents are setting up missile batteries on their roofs, or camping out in the living rooms of their apartments, often against their will, often holding them hostage--even people that are "on their side." And what precise measure can target and eliminate such a target while at the same time minimizing the danger to the civilians? The Sniper. Sure, they make mistakes. Sure, they can never eliminate the danger to civilians, certainly not in a war zone. But of all the methods available in an urban setting, the sniper is, perhaps, among _the most humane_.
> 
> I know it can be hard to think of war-things in those terms, sometimes, if you're not used to it. We see snipers set up separate from the rest of the unit, see them hidden, maybe think they're hiding because they're scared. _No._ They're hiding because they are incredibly vulnerable. The most stable form for shooting is the prone position-- which is also the one that takes the most time to run away from when needed. The sniper, especially when targeting at a distance, must remain perfectly calm, controlling breath and heartbeat while running constant calculations in the brain, while keeping up communications with team and command. He or She has to be able to clearly see what they're aiming at, even while sweating and hungry and thirsty and all the aches from carrying the heavy pack. The precision needed for sniping cannot be accomplished while avoiding the bullets of the main firefight. But even from a "calmer" position, every shot the sniper takes gives away their position. So they have to get it right, the first time.
> 
> In a sea of civilians, the sniper must positively identify the enemy combatant and eliminate them, with one shot. One shot, one kill, that's the goal. To minimize danger to oneself, yes. But also to minimize possible harm to all the surrounding civilians. This is not the work of cowards. I mean, drones, missiles, smart bombs, Nukes will all kill your enemy just as dead, will all serve to protect your own troops, so why go to the trouble of using an sniper? Because that's the method that spares the most civilians.
> 
> Okay end of rant. Let's all go get some ice cream!


	7. Diaspora

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeyyyyyyy!! Look who isn't dead!!! :D And OhmiGod! You're here, too!  
> So, er, yeah, been cracking down on working on original stuff, made some progress, but thinking about this thing damn near every day, so. . . (also, I cut out like, more than half of the activities I was involved with in January because I finally plotted out my time committments and, yeah, no wonder I never had time to cook clean my house, clean my sheets, do my laundry, much less workout or write. . .)
> 
> So, this should be the last of the "set up" chapters. You may have noticed that I really like to give my OC's interesting backstories. I think it adds a bit of depth to the particular fan-verse. But none of them will ever become the focus of the story. Anyway, there's one introduced near the end of this chappie.  
> Also, oh, hey, the last cross-over is worked in. No additional fandoms to add for this story! Yay! Starting with some characters you may not expect. This is canon through season 3, though maybe a bit altered at the end. Kinda ignoring the following seasons, although keeping the "Derek can go full wolf" bit, cuz, RAWR, amiright?
> 
> By last cross-over, by the way, I mean because Marvel Cinematic Universe is rather all-encompassing, don't you think? Speaking of RAWR, Matthew Murdock in red leather you sexy beast *drool* . . .
> 
> *ahem* Think that's it for now. Thanks for reading!

 

Darcy tapped her pen on the table in thought, eyes idly skipping from the large screen at the end of the conference room to the other attendees. "Look, PR for the Avengers I can handle, with some input from Pepper. I can even include Bucky in that with little problem, provided he doesn't do anything horribly horrible on live TV. But the entire Clan? Iffy."

"You wouldn't be handling our PR, so much as . . . promoting it alongside your own efforts." Rebecca Barnes' face filled the screen, the sound of airplane engines filling the audio behind her voice. "We'll produce content, we'll post it, but we're going to need the exposure-boost that you can provide. _If_ Grampy thinks we need to go public-- which, due to having an amnesiac vampire loose the capital of Peru, it might be needed. It's doubtful my brother has any idea of what he is, so he may not be careful to keep certain things discreet."  She shrugged. "It's possible we won't need to come out at all-- we may get to him before anyone sees anything they shouldn't. Or, maybe, something else will happen down the line. I just want to be sure that we have an apparatus in place to address the contingency should it arise."

Darcy nodded, scribbling a few notes. "But PR isn't going to be his only problem. Seventy years as the Fist of Hydra, there's going to be a Court Martial. And if he's free after that, there may be criminal cases. And if there aren't, or there are but he gets through them, there's still going to be all the civil cases for Wrongful Death, not to mention all the nuts that will come out claiming paternity or other crap. He's going to need a legal team on retainer for years."

"No problem there," Tony leaned forward in his seat. "I've got a whole floor of lawyers that make sharks look cuddly. You can have a couple of them."

Pepper grimaced in unison with Rebecca. "Tony, that might not be wise. Any lawyer connected to Stark Enterprises might be considered to have a severe conflict of interest if representing Mr. Barnes, especially against any Wrongful Death suits."

Tony scowled. Darcy watched as arguments filled the spaces behind his eyes, only to be dismissed before he even uttered them. He sighed. "Not anyone from Landman & Zack, though, and certainly not Hogarth. She's a raging bitch and liable to drive Barnes to greater heights of 'Wrongful Death' before she's done with him."

"If I may," JARVIS broke in. "I believe that Machina and I have located a good prospect. Nelson & Murdock is a relatively young firm, based out of Hell's Kitchen, but you may remember they were instrumental in bringing down Wilson Fisk no that long ago. They are swiftly building a reputation for being compassionate, sharp, and fearless. We believe that they would be able to handle a client with needs as unique as those posed by Mr. Barnes, and would be able to handle themselves should less savory elements attempt to disrupt their work."

"And if that doesn't work out?" Gabriel asked.

"We have a few other prospects in the city, but Machina and I agree that Nelson & Murdock would be the first choice."

"Send us their information," Rebecca decided. "One of us will go pay them a visit once we've sorted out everything else."

 

*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~

 

"Here's the sangui-stasis box you were asking after." Bruce placed the slightly scuffed, white box on the cleared off lab table. "It traveled with me all through India, never broke once. I'm sure it will work just as well for you."

Gabriel smiled, fingers lightly tracing the DE logo on the side. "Thank you, Dr. Banner. My grand-daughters are bringing the latest version for you, but it hasn't been field tested yet. Helping my brainwashed-assassin-grandson is not the time to find out we overlooked something. . . "

"Of course," Bruce nodded. "So. . . why do you need to transport blood? Why not find some fresh?"

'Ordinarily, that is exactly what we would do. But Iacov is . . . a picky eater, one might say. He only drinks Stephan's blood. Once Zola's serum triggered his gifts, he never drank from anyone else. In letters home, he said that no one else's blood smelled right. I suspect it's because they'd loved each other from the moment they first met as boys, and love changes the taste of blood. No matter how much respect or affection others my have had for him, none loved him so completely as Stephan does."

"So, he's going to be thirsty after all this time."

"And thus, why not just a couple of bags will do. We'll not want to take all we need from Stephan all at once, but if we fill this box and a few bags additional, that should be enough to abate my boy's need for at least several weeks."

Bruce sighed, pinching the top of his nose as he started to fear the worst. "What will be his requirements after that?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Normally, we're well-fed with a tablespoon a week, and can go for two, three months before we start experiencing serious adverse effects from deprivation, and maybe a week beyond that before we start to loose mental cohesion. But Iacov? Who knows how Zola's serum changes things, not to mention the constant cryo-freezes. . . "

 

 *     *     *

Ernesto  was a good man. The Asset decided that he liked Ernesto. Also his ship and his crew.

Except Luis. Luis was a fucking asshole who liked to look too long at little kids and hit people smaller then himself. Also, Luis had seemed a little too cozy with that Hydra-fucker he'd taken care of back at the Canal.

But Jorge had cut his hair so it wasn't in his face all the time anymore, and Miguel had taught him how to play his guitar a bit. Ernesto would talk about his daughter (Such a smart girl! Going to do great things someday, just you wait and see!), Carlos had countered with stories about his boy (Such a good boy, always wanting to help his Momma!), and Atoc always dealt him into the card games (but never played, because everyone thought he was a cheater. Which was true.) and always found the best vodka. These the Asset liked. Being around them had been familiar, and so his lips would stretch in contentment when near them, even if he didn't know why. They never took it wrong when he couldn't find words, they just smiled and said it was okay if it took sometime to get things right in his head.

Except fucking Luis. So when the ship docked, and the cargo unloaded, and after the Asset promised he'd  try to stop by for Ernesto's daughter's party, he waited to follow Luis. Because the Asset might not remember much about his own life, but he was pretty sure that a looser like Luis wouldn't have many friends. And even if some poor person was saddled with the weight of being "family" to the goat-fucker, he was still pretty sure that Luis was the shortcut to the local Hydra Welcoming Committee.

A few hours later proved the Asset right. The Asset wasn't quite sure why Luis' blood tasted wrong as he licked it off his metal arm, even as it calmed the previously unnoticed thirst, but he was sure that he'd taken the bastard out before the locals even knew he was home, just one block away from the base. Satisfied, he tossed the remains of Luis' body into the Rio Rimac.

Time for some recon. 

 

~*~*~*~*

Isaac stretched back in his seat, twisting slightly to appreciate the sparkling sunset over the Mediterranean. In the foreground was the Isle D'if, something he'd only read about in his lit class back at Beacon Hills High. He smiled as he sipped his wine, remembering how Derek had explained to Scott, "It's not just about revenge. In the end, it's about being torn away from your pack, and fighting to get it back, while eliminating the threat." Leave it to Scott to only understand Dumas when explained with pack dynamics. What a glorious dumbass his Alpha was.

He looked over to his newly-adopted father. The day had been spent introducing him to his new family at the Argent family reunion, at one of the family's chateaus outside Marseille. The bottle they were splitting had been well earned. _Well_ earned. He topped off his glass with a giggle.

Chris grinned. "Well," he said. "That was the most fun I've had in a long, looooong time. Gotta say, it was so good to puncture their over-puffed egos, if only for a moment. . ."

 Issac giggled again, relishing the way everything was going all warm and fuzzy. "Tante Yves' face, when she saw my eyes- hee, hee-- like 'Oh mon Dieu, he's going to shed everywhere!' haaaa haaa . . ." he tried to catch his breath. "I seriously thought that grand-pere Michel was about to skewer me with one of those pikes in the front hall, though."

"I think he might have," Chris agreed, "if your cousins hadn't been so visibly excited for a new playmate who could keep up with them. Looked like you boys were having fun."

Isaac smiled, nodding. "Yeah, lotsa fun."

"They used live grenades."

"Legionnaires," Isaac shrugged, yawning. "So awesome."

"One of them shot you."

"It was only a graze. They were officers before they retired. Crazy buncha assholes. Felt like home."

Chris poured himself the last of the bottle. "What was the deal with them taking off their shirts at the end?"

"Oh," Isaac blushed. "Well, they wanted me to scratch their backs up so they could go show off to their friends. But I told them that one, that was a weird thing to ask a cousin, even if I was adopted and two, they had to earn such things like real men, not weak little cheaters who were so inept at getting women they had to fake the after-effects."

His father stilled. "Is that why they all tackled you?"

"Yep. They earned what they got that time."

"No wonder you're so beat." Chris sat forward. "So, family shit is done. What do you want to do tomorrow?"

"It's be cool to send Scott some pics of the Chateau D'If. Maybe take the boat?"

"Sounds like a plan, kid."

Neither noticed the serveur who quietly stepped away while pulling out a small cell phone, nor the small blue petals that blew away in the breeze as he left.

 

 ~*~*~*~*~

Normally, Avengers business and Stark Industries business were kept separate. Clint could count on one hand the number of times he'd had anything to do with the latter, outside of social interactions with Pepper, of course. Thus, Clint waiting with the Quinjet on the tarmac of La Guardia to ferry Pepper's guests to Avenger's Tower was. . . unusual. Even before one counted the unusual nature of the guests themselves, and that the ownership of Dragon Enterprises were _very much also Avenger's Business_. The added fact that they might, if things went well, be his future in-laws. . . well. Things got interesting. 

Movement in the corner of his eye had him standing and turning, ready as Pepper boarded, followed by six others. Time to meet the Legendary Barnes Sisters and some of their children. If they were anything like Nat . . .

A familiar shade of deep red hair followed Pepper's strawberry blonde.

Clint fought to keep from fidgeting. _Aw, geez._

Pepper's smile filled her face. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet our pilot, Mr. Clint Barton. Clint, this is Sophia Barnes," she gestured to the red-head, then continued as Clint shook her hands with a respectful "Ma'am."

"This is Victoria," A blonde, who murmured "Vicky, please."

"This is Rebecca," Brunette, face right out of the history books, famous in her own right for her early work with women's rights activists in the fifties, and her public split with the movement in the mid nineteen-sixties. Also, insisting on "Becky, if you will."

"These three women, along with Grampy, constitute the leadership of Dragon Enterprises. With them have come a few of their grand-children, who will be dealing with things more on your end. This is Sophia's grand-daughter Gabriella, a communications and information specialist. Also Michael, Vicky's grandson and combat specialist, and finally Raphael, Becky's grandson and doctor."

Clint greeted them as well. "I understand you all have combat experience?"

They nodded. "Michael is a retired Marine, Raphael a Seal. I wasn't spec ops, but I was in the Air Force and learned to fly just about every machine capable of flight, including the U2 and the Shuttle." Gabriella smiled. "Some of our others cousins are Rangers, a few Delta Force, and I hear we recently discovered a cousin who was Strike Team Delta before she became an Avenger? I can't tell you how excited I was when we were told that-- I've had a bit of a crush since the Battle of New York. Kinda awkward to learn that she's a cousin, but exciting anyway."

"Bit of a crush?" Michael scoffed. "I think my hearing is still recovering. You were bouncing through the farm like a rabbit on coke for three days."

"Well, yeah. She's so pretty, and so badass! She'll totally fit in with us. . . if she wants . . ." Gabriella trailed off uncertainly.

Clint smiled. "She is pretty, and really badass. As for what she wants . . . she's never had real family before, outside the teams she's been on." He sat down in his seat, and started prepping the jet to take off. "She likes Grampy well enough, and she remembers Bucky mostly fondly . . . but for the rest, I guess we'll all just have to wait and see."

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

_Esperanza Cartena had never liked those men, the ones who came and told her father what to do. He didn't like them either, and he didn't like doing what they wanted him to do. He liked even less, though, the thought of his wife and daughter coming to harm, so he complied. He would send his men out, to gather the crop, and to process it, and package it, and sometimes they would sell it to others, and sometimes the other men would come and take it._

_Half the time, it was the man called "Rumlow." She had never liked him-- his grin was too wide, his voice too sweet when he spoke to her. When she was five, there was another man with him-- a man with long, dark hair, a metal arm, and dead blue eyes. She had initially been curious about the shine from the metal, but those eyes had haunted her. Even before she knew the word, she learned the concept of "abomination."_

_Two nights later, when her mother woke her from yet another nightmare, Esperanza confessed what had frightened her. Mama had replied, "You know what it means when  a face haunts you like that? It means God wants you to pray for that person. Who needs our prayers more than those who frighten us? Ask a saint to help you, then the man will have two praying for him, and you will not be alone in your prayers."_

_She had nodded solemnly, her five year old self gravely accepting the responsibility God had dropped in her lap. She methodically paged through her picture book of saints, and considered whom might be best to ask. Who was the Patron of Scary Men? No one was labeled as such, but she hit on an excellent solution when she considered The Blessed Mother. Surely, the Lady knew all the other saints and angels, would not she know who best to assign?_

_The daily habit of prayer thus started never died, only grew. When she was six, her father hired gymnastics teachers who taught her how to tumble, fall, and climb like the little monkeys in the forest. At seven, a karate instructor taught her how to kick, chop, and punch. She excelled in her academics, and made friends through school and her track tournaments, but everyday, without fail, she would set aside time to pray._

_When she was thirteen, a year into her Akido studies, Rumlow again brought the man with the metal arm. Rumlow and her father started yelling at each other and then, with that too-wide grin, Rumlow told the man with the metal arm to take her and "go have some fun." She was just old enough to know what Rumlow meant, but the sudden terror froze her, all her training vanished in that instant.  The dead blue eyes met her own terrified brown, and something ruddy briefly shone in the depth of his pupils. The metal arm reached out and dragged her down the hallway, pushing her roughly into her own room. She trembled as the man's eyes tracked across her collection of icons._

_Then he stepped away from her, eyes intent on a painting depicting Judith with the head of Holofernes. After a moment, his gaze slid to a picture of San Marguerite taming the dragon. His eyes narrowed, as he continued to examining to images on the wall, though she could not say why. Finally, he came to the icon of San Miguel, and this time, she identified surprised recognition in his face._

_Delicately, his fingers traced over the red-orange feathers, the spear, the scales, the seven heads of the Dragon of Revelation. "This. . ." his voice was rough, grating, as though he had recently been at a football match. She didn't think that was why, though. "This . . . man?"_

_"San Miguel? " She supplied. "You know of him?"_

_He shook his head. "They erase everything, every time. But this . . . echoes." He glanced over her shoulder, seeing her various level-belts. "Tell me about him while we spar. Those are useless if you freeze when afraid."_

_An hour later, she had managed to get past his guard once (though she suspected he had allowed that), and both were panting and sweaty. Rumlow and her father came in, surprised to see her sitting on his back while he instructed her on different joint locks. She was no longer afraid, a happy grin stretching her face. "Look, Papa!" She exclaimed, twisting his metal wrist. "He taught me a new lock!"_

_Rumlow had been incredulous. "I thought I told you to have fun."_

_The metal arm shrugged as much as it could. "This is fun."_

_"They must have broken more than they thought with all the cryo," Rumlow groused. "No matter, though, I still get to have my fun. Speaking of, Asset, time to go. Senor Cartena has agreed to our terms."_

_From that day on, she prayed that God would send the Archangel Michael to help the man with the metal arm--she refused to refer to him as "Asset". A year later, she told her father that she wanted to join a convent. Papa noted that she was too young, and she had to finish school, first. After that, though, if she wanted to take vows, she would have his blessing. In the meantime, he also insisted that she learn other things-- how to ride the bike that he kept in the shed, and more teachers to teach Krav Maga and other, harder combat systems. Some refused to come until she was at least sixteen, so when she was old enough, they finally came, too. She learned all the weapons her father had, including all the guns._

_"Some day," her father said. "they will tire of my reluctance. I will not be of use to them anymore. That day, they will come, and they will kill me. Promise me," he said, "promise me that when they come, you will run away as fast as you can. Take the bike, and go away where they can not find you."_

_She promised, and started writing to various orders regarding her  blossoming vocation. And then, weeks before her eighteenth birthday, they came, not with words and fake smiles, but announced with gunfire and shouts in the night._

_She ran, just like she promised she would. She took the bike and the emergency money, leaving behind the bloody corpse of her mother and her doomed father. South from their home outside Bogota she'd fled, through forest, across mountain, to the desert and then south along the sea, barely stopping to get water or food. She knew at some point in Ecuador she'd need petrol, but the gauge never wavered from full. She had a spare tank in case, but over forty five hours she never needed it. Sometimes she thought she was being followed, or watched. The whole time she prayed-- prayed that she might make it to her destination, that her months earlier than planned arrival wouldn't cause trouble, prayed most of all that trouble wouldn't follow here there._

_Once in the town of Loja, a man had thought her an easy mark. He didn't realize that she might be "the Princess of the Cartena Cartel," didn't think that, being the only child and treasured daughter of Senor Gaspar Cartena, she might have been trained to fight to protect herself against the predations of rival cartels. He learned quickly, though, when she broke his arm, nose, and three ribs._

_Only when she reached the outskirts of Lima did the needle on the fuel gauge start to move. After two days with no rest, Esperanza Cartena had arrived outside the convent of St. Dominic in Lima with a tank and a half of petrol, the clothes on her back, her murdered mother's blood-stained rosary, and her murdered father's blessing._

_Two days later, Esperanza Cartena was no more, though there was a new novice in the convent who had taken the name Sister Judith Miguel. For a few blissful years, she put away the lessons of her youth, losing herself to prayer, contemplation, and education of the local children. Now, though. . . the shadows from the forest were back, the feeling of being watched._

_Warily, she swept the floor around the statue of San Miguel. As he was one of her special patrons, it was one of her duties to ensure that this area was kept clean and tidy. Normally, she undertook this task with happiness, but now. . . .something was wrong. He skin crawled as her eyes swept though the flickering shadows that filled the rest of the empty chapel, but nothing was there. She turned back to the statue with a rag in one hand, gently dusting where the archangel's very real spear rested beside the life-size foot, both pressing into the neck of the devil. A small sound made her look up, meeting the statue's burning blue eyes._

_No, the statue had brown eyes. She had seen them a thousand times before._

_Except now the statue had eyes like a butane flame, and a small glowing ember in their depths. Terror crept through her bones, but she could not tear her eyes away from the burning blue--_

_The burning eyes shifted to look over her shoulder._

_Another sound, a shift in the silence, and instinct roared to life. Her broom became a staff in her hands as she spun and struck and --_

She gasped, cheek stinging from the sudden slap, her arms immobilized by three of her sisters, and there, on the floor, Brother Pedro, struggling to regain his breath from her blow to his solar plexus, the broom broken and splintered at his side.

Blinking, she looked into the concerned eyes of Mother Superior. "You were sleep walking again, child. Third time in as many days. Brother Pedro was only trying to wake you." The older woman smiled as gestured for her sisters to let her go. "You perform your duties diligently enough, you need not prove anything by doing them again in your sleep. And this is the third time you have struck at Brother Pedro."

She clasped her trembling hands in front of her self. "I'm so sorry, Brother Pedro. Perhaps. . . perhaps I should be locked in my cell at night, it is not my intent to cause harm to any one here."

The man graciously forgave her as her sisters escorted her back to her cell. The older woman, however, turned back to the statue of the angel. When she was certain that she was alone, and could no longer hear the sound of the others, she bent to pick up the splinters of the broom, and piled them at his feet. "I locked her in myself, this evening." Her voice held a faint note of accusation. "What are you trying to tell her? What are you trying to tell us?"

The statue, of course, didn't answer. But, for the space of a flame-flicker, she could have sworn the eyes changed color.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Adrian pulled the phone away from his ear with a tired smile. "Father will be here in seven hours, along with some of my grandchildren. Apparently, I've got nearly ninety of them, but he's only bringing three along."

"Ninety gran'children?" Connor looked impressed. "It's like yer family's tryin' ta be Irish fer real!"

Adrian grinned, accepting the beer Murphy offered. "Well, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, great-great grandchildren, and even a few great-great-great grandchildren. And we _do_ tend to live a bit longer, you know. . ."

"Still though," Murphy scratched at his stubble. " 'S a good size fer a clan. Speaking of, you narrow down where yer boy is while I was out gettin' us these fine libations?"

 Adrian nodded, unfolding a map onto the small table in their shared hotel room. "Most of the local Hydra presence is focused here, in this small triangle south of the airport, between it and the river. They haven't been hit yet, but he's been here a couple of days. I don't yet have enough strength to gather his intentions, but at a guess, I'd say. . . it's too late for him to hit it today, the sun's already starting to rise, and he'll try to keep things as quiet as he can, so he'll move sometime after midnight."

"Should we approach him before he hits the base?" Connor asked. "It'll be hard to catch him in any chaos after."

Adrian shrugged. "We don't go anywhere near him until Pops and the kids arrive-- my son is extraordinarily dangerous, and until he knows us, he'll probably assume we're enemies. If we want to catch him before, it'll have to be _right_ before."

Murphy and Connor looked at each other, before shrugging in unison. "I think we can make it work."

"Good," Adrian nodded, running his hand through his hair. "We should get some sleep while we can. Tomorrow will be . . . interesting."

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sangui-stasis box is made up. I read up on how blood donations work, and like, no way that would work for vampires. Not buying it. So, I made up some Dragon Enterprises cutting edge sciency-thing because I could. But, if there was such a thing, it might be handy.
> 
> Also, while there is a Convent of St. Dominic in Lima, Peru, I've no idea how it's laid out or what it looks like, so that was all made up, too.
> 
> Oh, if you don't know the story of Judith and Holofernes, or St. Margaret and the dragon, go google. Seriously cool stories.
> 
> Finally, guys, guys, Esther made a thing: http :// www . polyvore . com / mysterious _ ways / set ? id = 167668595 So cool, right?!?!?!?! (take the spaces out of the link to get it to work, btw).


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